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Along 



Western Brandywine 



" Thy fate and mine are not repose, 
And ere another evening close, 
Thou to thy tides shall turn again, 
And 1 to seek the crowd of men." 

— BRYANT. 



WILMER W. MacELREE 



1909 






V 



bM-n 



COPYRIGHT 

IN 1909 
BY THE AUTHOR 



;Cl,A'-a534G8 



Table op Contents. 



PAGB. 

Mecum et Secum — Barren Hill, . . .7 

Scaturient Sources, .... 13 

Griffith's Dam, . . . . -19 

The Beautiful Gardeu, ... 25 

Icedale, . . . . -29 

A Study iu Geography, • • • 33 

Brandywine Manor Church, . . -38 

On to Hibernia, .... 47 

Brandywine Inn, . . . -56 

Pennock's Dam and Other Dams, . . 64 

Hand's Pass, . . . . .69 

Coatesville, .... 77 

South Mountain, . . . .82 

Laurel, ..... 88 

John Russell Hayes — Star Gazers' Stone, . . 93 

Indian Rock — Indian Hannah, . . 103 

From Northbrook to Chads' s Ford, . .111 

Chads' s Ferry, . . . . 119 

The Battle at the Ford, . . . .126 

Observations, .... 147 

Point Lookout and Guyencourt, . . • 151 

The Home of Gunpowder, . . . 159 

Manitoo and Wild Harry, . . . 167 

Rising Sun, . . . . 175 
On to Wilmington, .... 182 



Dedicated to 

pliUlrtm $, (Bable 




" Near the Mouth of the Brandywine." 



MECUM ET SECUM. 



BARREN HILL. 



" My reverence I hope will me enable, 
To curb my temperament unstable, 
For zigzag courses we are wont to keep." 

Goethe — Faust. 



OUNTAINS Mecum et Secum I sa- 
lute you ! Your names are not found 
in the geographies of our country, 
nor in the geological charts of our 
state, nor in our county atlases, and 
yet, you were named before these 
were compiled or ever their com- 
pilers were born. But the present 
generation knows you not nor seeks 
to know you. While the youngest 
school-boy glibly repeats Jorullo and 
Popocatapetl, the oldest and most 
advanced has never heard of you. So far as I know, none of 
our historians has ever climbed your slopes, ever looked down 
from your summits. 
7 ] 




Inter nos reader, since the subject invites a Latin phrase, 
and no other occurs to me besides one which veils the awful 
majesty of the law, inter nos, I am not absolutely, or to speak 
with legal precision, morally sure that these hills on which I 
stand on this October day are Mecum et Secum. 

An old conveyance ( which I have lately looked for in vain ) 
assigns Mecum et Secum to a tract of land in southwestern 
Nantmel. More than a year ago, with the assistance of a bor- 
rowed protractor, I reached the conclusion that they lifted their 
heads within three miles of Honeybrook Borough and not far 
from this spot. Now, unfortunately my note book is lost, my 
plot has disappeared, and only memory remains to guide me. 
With this director, I have attained my present point of observa- 
tion south of the turnpike in Honeybrook Township, hoping to 
get a comprehensive view of some of the sources of the West- 
ern Brandywine, and to feast my eyes with a sight of these 
mountains, the jingle of whose names has never left me since 
first I heard it. Mountains of Mystery ! who first applied these 
names to you ? these names that mark no difl'erence in size or 
color, these names that designate no physical qualities whatever. 
Meum et Tuum might serve the purpose of defining rights, but 
Mecum et Secum— guess it who can. It stimulates but baffles 
all my curiosity. Did some old pedant seek to give his farm re- 
nown? or was the name of Mecum used to fix the spot on which 
some modern Ruth clave to her mother-in-law ? I leave these 
riddles for more astute investigators, with the single comment 
of a student of " Tom " Hood : " Perhaps," said he, " a settler 
and his wife did here fall out, on which he held to Mecum and 
sent her back to Secum." 

" January 3, 1907. ' Eureka ' ! " I have found not these moun- 
tains, but a conveyance which gives a fairly satisfactory reason 
for my inability to definitely locate them in Honeybrook Town- 
ship — they belong to Bucks County. 

[8 



With the removal of Mecum et Secum the only obstacle 
that one is likely to meet on his journey from Coatesville to the 
mountainous source of the Western Brandywine is the Barren 
Hill. Until lately I had supposed that the sterile quality of the 
soil had given rise to this name, but an old resident of the 
neighborhood having most seriously affirmed to a tradition in his 
family attributing it to some Baron or other, an impulse of ro- 
manticism prompts me to stop and investigate. 

In the latter part of the Eighteenth Century, Honeybrook 
Township did possess a Baron, who was the owner not merely of 
a title, but of a " Marshant and a Saw Mill," which were known 
as the Baron's Mills. 

Frederick Eugene Francis Baron de Beelan Bertholf re- 
joiced in a name commensurate to his dignity and in a property 
commensurate to his name. His possessions comprised more 
than seven hundred acres of land, which were divided into sev- 
eral tracts stretching over the southwestern corner of the town- 
ship, one of them being close to Captain Graham's mill on the 
Western Branch of the Western Brandywine. 

According to the statements contained in his conveyances, 
the Baron was at first a sojourner in Philadelphia ; later on he 
became a resident of Manchester Township, York County. To 
the composition of his name apparently Germany and France 
had both been contributors. When he wrote it on " petitions " 
he shortened it to /"^ ^^ ^--7 
Baron de Beelen ^ ;^ iL^J^^^ 
Bertholf. Now and 
then a lazy convey- 
ancer curtailed it to 
Baron de Bee. Occasionally, too, an illiterate assessor changed 
it to Baron de Bilian, but however much he abridged his name 
he never did de Bilian the injustice of failing to charge his 
farm with its full acreage and value. 
9] 





\ 



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Si 

£4 





"=? K' ^ 5 ? !y 
^ § s "^i !a ci 



■,<*■ 



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v 



What brought de Beelan to our shores? Did he set out, 
like Baron Castine, in search of excitement? Was he 

" Full of a young man's joy to be 
Abroad in the world alone and free?" 

Unquestionably he did not seek among these hills a dusky 
daughter of the Conestogas, for he was already married. 
Could we find his record doubtless it would be highly eulo- 
gistic, but as it is, I grope around for truth and lay my hands 
upon a few old dusty papers, a few faded autographs— nothing 
more. A century ago, the waters of the Western Brandywine 
proudly carried the Baron's story to the sea, to-day, they flow 
unconscious of his name. 

"Three large two story stone dwelling houses under one 
roof, two smaller stone buildings, a large stone barn, a log ditto, 
a stone wagonshed and two small back buildings all in good re- 
pair and well furnished." Such is the description of an old as- 
sessment. 

To some palates, this language may not smack strongly of 
romance, but it must be remembered that at the time it was 
written, the inhabitants of Honeybrook Township for the most 
part, lived in little log houses. If this baronial mansion of de 
Beelen's in Honeybrook had no echoing corridors or vast halls, 
through which Lady Johanna Maria Theresa could walk, it could 
at least furnish her table with " 100 oz. of plate." 

How much the Baron appreciated the excellent qualities of 

Lady Johanna , > ^y' yn ^ 

and provided for 4 J^^ 'j ^ (j / eJtM-^^^:::^ 
her comfort is "^ • */ • ^^,..^--^^^^^^^___ 

shown circum- 
stantially by the assessment of 1786, in which we find his wagon- 
shed credited with a phaeton— the only one in the township. 

Of the roads leading to the Baron's Mills, one was known 
as the Baron's Road, afterwards corrupted to the Barrens Road. 

II ] 



Baron's Mills ! Baron's Road ! Why not Baron's Hill ! Why 
not? because in the conveyance to Francis Beelen by Joseph 
Martin and his wife, some of the southern lines of " Martinaro " 
call for " barren land." Interested as I am in supporting the 
Baronage of the Brandywine, and doubly interested in redeem- 
ing this part of the county from the stigma of sterility, truth 
compels me to withhold de Beelan's title from this rugged old 
ridge. 




[ 12 



SCATURIENT SOURCES. 



" You leave us, you will see the Rhine." 

Tennyson— In Memoriain. 

" it is more often true that a man who could scarce be 

induced to expose his body even to a village of prairie dogs, 

will complacently display a mind as nal<ed as the day it was 

born, without so much as a fig leaf of acquirement on it, 

in every gallery of Europe." 

Lowell— Fireside Travels. 

HILE others consult steamship lines for 
Europe, I turn to the railroad that leads 
to Honeybrook. I am old-fashioned 
enough to believe, with Lowell, that 
men should be familiar with their own 
villages before they go abroad, " if not 
even that, it is of little import whither they go." Besides, 
between Europe and Honeybrook, Honeybrook has some obvious 
advantages. Honeybrook air is not less pure, Honeybrook water 
is purer. Who has not remarked with what uniformity travelers 
from Chester County (some of them of pronounced temperance 
convictions) tell us, how from sheer necessity, contrary to their 
tastes and inclinations, they were forced to decline so much as a 
sip of European water unless flavored with German hops, or 
13] 




French or Italian grapes. Of course the glacier water of 
Switzerland was avoided, as lacking the necessary salts. 

Honeybrook, on the other hand, in offering her visitors 
water, points her finger northward toward the Welsh Mountains, 
on whose slopes are the " scaturient " sources of the Western 
Brandywine. 

I use the word "scaturient" advisedly. No other word 
would so readily suggest Lamb, and it is Lamb I wish to quote. 
"It is soothing," says he, "to contemplate the head of the 
Ganges— to trace the first little bubblings of a mighty river." 
For those whose imagination is not yet fledged it will be found 
equally restful to wander about the fontlets of the Brandywine, 
particularly in Spring-time, for that season offers no more al- 
luring prospect than is obtained from the mountains that en- 
circle the borough of Honeybrook. 

The reservoir which marks the eastern source of the west- 
ern stream lies about two miles from the hotel, a little to the 
left of a quiet country road. In the middle of May this road 
is girt with dandelions — not the squatty variety that one finds 
in the towns, but the tall, vigorous kind that raise their frowzy 
heads above the grass and gi-acefully nod to the passing breeze. 
Great golden heads, well might you charm a miser's eye! I 
love to watch your ministrations to the meanest objects. You 
despise neither a mud-puddle nor a common stone. Dandelions 
in bloom on the roadside ! Apple trees awakening in the or- 
chards ! Let him who is not satisfied with these turn back. I 
acknowledge no fellowship with such. Directly in front of me 
a blue bird touches a withered limb with a bit of heaven. The 
lightning has long since blasted the trunk to which it is attached, 
and years have bent it, almost doubled it. Wrinkled and twisted 
and torn, denuded of half its bark, every branch it stretches out 
is naked and black— no ! I beg its pardon, one of them contains 
just enough life to force a spray over the fence within the reach 

[ '4 



of every passer-by— a generous welcome from an aged friend. 
Grovelling is the spirit that is not uplifted by the incense of blos- 
soms, cold is the nature that responds not to their Benedicite. 
From a point above the Reservoir I stand and look about 




me. My lungs are filled with fragrance, my eyes with beauty. 

In front of me are pasture lands of brightest green stretching 

over many an acre, and ending only at a ridge which divides the 

Eastern from the Western Branch of the Western Brandywine. 

Firmly seated on the ridge is Honeybrook 

Borough, half concealed by the trees that line 

its streets. Out of its centre rises the white 

spire of the Presbyterian Church, and beyond 

the southern line of the borough— four miles 

beyond it— can be seen the purple tops of the 

Barren Hill. 

The course of the Horse Shoe Turnpike 
as far as Brandywine Manor, is marked by ~ -•""- 
houses, the village of Rockville being a little more than half 
way. Blossoms and bird-songs and the music of streamlets, in- 
vest the country about Honeybrook with an infinite charm. 

To one whose imagination is grounded in the early days of 
Nantmel, a walk over some of the Indian trails, or old-time 
thoroughfares, is a glimpse backward, into other centuries, 
which will prove of more inspiration than a month's study in a 
library. 

15 ] 




I feel, with Hulbert, that those who desire out-door occupa- 
tion and are interested in local history, should consider the story 
of the county in which they live as it may be read in the high- 
ways that are known, or those which have been forgotten. " The 
study of these various highways, their buildings and their for- 
tunes, is the story of the people who have inhabited, and who do 
now inhabit, the land. The study of them is an important 
story, it has already been too long neglected." 




General Wayne. 



Bushnell years ago declared,— "If there is any kind of ad- 
vancement going on, if new ideas are abroad, and new hopes 
rising, you will see it by the roads that are building. Nothing 
makes an inroad without making a road. 

"All creative action, whether in government, industry, 
thought, or religion, creates roads." 

Were Alexander Marshall living, I question if he would 
recognize in the Honeybrook Borough of to-day a development 
of the Waynesburg of 1815, when the ground on which a great 
part of the houses were afterwards built, was an old field or 

[ i6 



common, that had not been fenced in since the making of the 
Horse Shoe Turnpike in 1803, on the north side of the Horse 
Shoe Road. 

" On the south side of the turnpike," writes Marshall, " was 
a tavern called the General Wayne, with a square, old-fashioned 
sign hung to the breeze, on which was painted what purported 
to be a likeness of the General on horseback, dressed in Revolu- 
tionary equipments, boots and spurs, mounted on a prancing, 
chestnut-sorrel steed. This tavern-house stood on the left cor- 
ner of a road that intersected with the turnpike leading to the 
Mariner's Compass, now called Compassville. On the right side 
of this road, stood a stone store-house kept by David Hackett, a 
single man, who boarded at the tavern. The tavern was kept 
by Jonathan Jones, who, while living there, represented in part, 
Chester County in the Lower House of the State Legislature, 
and afterwards was Sheriff of Chester County. Besides these 
two buildings, there was a small, two-story stone house on the 
north side of the turnpike, about one hundred yards further 
west. ... A school-house that stood lower down the turn- 
pike, on the south side near where the railroad now crosses said 
pike, was called the ' General Wayne School-house.' This was 
about the position of things at the date named. 

"There was an Irish schoolmaster by the name of Stinson 
who had saved some money by teaching in the neighborhood. 
. . . He bought this old field by way of speculation, got it 
surveyed into town-lots and made a lottery— lotteries were then 
fashionable and not unlawful. He sold the tickets mostly on 
credit, the lottery was drawn, and those who drew lots fronting 
on the turnpike, promptly paid for their tickets and received ti- 
tles. Those who drew back lots were not so prompt, and many 
of these remained on Stinson's hands. In a short time some of 
the owners of front lots began to build, this encouraged others 
and then the back lots became more valuable. There was one 

17] 



drawback very discouraging— the want of water . . . Wells 
had to be put down at considerable expense, which retarded im- 
provements for some time, but even this was overcome by enter- 
prise." 

" Tantae molis erat Romanam condere gentem." 




Public School, Honevbrook. 



[ i8 



GRIFFITH'S DAM. 




" Smooth it glides upon its travel, 

Here a wimple, there a gleam — 
O, the clean gravel ! 

O, the smooth stream ! 

Stevenson — Looking Glass River. 

HE first piscatorial stopping-place on 
the stream below the reservoir is 
'Squire Griffith's Dam— a mile or 
more from Honeybrook Borough. 

It must be confessed, the notice at 
the entrance is not inviting, but once 
you get accustomed to such ti'espass 
signs, you face them with the intrepidity of a veteran marching 
against an enemy's cannons. Besides, this notice to keep off 
is most unreasonable. If the dam and its buildings were not 
originally intended for a wayfarer's lodge, why did the owner 
locate them so near the roadside ? Already some one has en- 
tered the enclosure. I, too, will enter and exchange greetings 
with the adventurer. 
" How are you ? " 
What ! it is the 'Squire himself. 

A little man, brisk in his movements, hearty in his greeting, 
at once practical and aesthetic. 
19] 



" You see," he exclaims, " I utilize this dam for ice— four 
places in front of the breast for four teams— all conveniences— 
everything right— ice keeps down taxes and interest. Taxes 
and interest own it in winter, and I own it in the summer, free ! " 

My admiration of the 'Squire increases ; experience has 
taught me that only a prudent man can meet taxes and interest 
combined — but let these arithmetical questions pass. 

" A pretty place," I suggest. 

" Pretty ? You ought to see it when the lilies are out. We 
have them all — white lilies, yellow lilies, the sacred flowers of 
Egypt, and—" 




I interrupt his botanical observations, and inquire, 

" Are there fish in the dam ? " 

The 'Squire looks at me a little sternly out of his magiste- 
rial eye, but seeing no signs of tackle in my pockets, laughingly 
repeats my question : " Fish ? This dam has bass and catfish, 
eels, suckers, and three kinds of carp, full scale, leather and — " 

" Enough," I cry ( for candidly, I never fish for more than 
three varieties at once), "but do they ever manifest them- 
selves ? " 

" Come," he says, raising his finger significantly and lead- 

[ 20 



ing me to a little cabin. Then taking up a loaf of bread and 
breaking it into chunks, he flings the pieces into the water about 
ten feet from the bank. In a few moments the water is alive 
with carp. Some, the size of shad, swim straight for the bread, 
others roll themselves about like porpoises, sucking the chunks 
down their big mouths, while the minnows wait for the crumbs. 
" Good bye, 'Squire ! " Could other owners but be induced 
to imitate your work, I can not doubt that Ruskin's dream for 
the rivers of England, would find at least a partial realization in 
the Brandywine : " Beautiful in falls, in lakes, in living pools, 
and so full of fish that you might take them out with your 
hands instead of nets." 




Leaving the dam, a shady road brings us out at the old Red 
Lyon on the Horse Shoe Turnpike close to a stone bridge. 

When Caleb Pierce and his fellow reviewers ran the line of 
the Paxtang Road in 1738, they stopped to refresh themselves 
at this point, while their surveyor jotted down, "East one 
hundred thirty-four perches to a black Oak near a branch of 
Brandywine." West of this bridge the course of the Paxtang 

21 ] 



Road, as far as the Bull's Head — afterwards Waynesburg — lay to 
the south of the present Turnpike. 

Looking over the fields of oats spread out 
before me, I ask an agricultural question of 
some farmers, but obtain no satisfactory 
answer. Perhaps I ought not to be surprised, 
for McClune, in his day, was unable to solve 
it. " When oats were introduced," said he, 
" I have not been able to learn. This grain, 
however, was raised in but small quantities 
until after the completion of the Horseshoe 
Pike, when the large number of teams pass- 
ing along that road with goods for the West, 
made a market for this grain at the taverns 
along that highway." 

A dozen rods east of the Turnpike bridge 
is Rocklyn Station, half a mile further is 
From a Road Docket. Rockville — a sleepy Village which has lain 
alongside of the public road for many a year. Occasionally 
it opens its eyes at some unusual noise, then closing them again, 
slumbers on through the seasons, rarely shifting its position 
on its rocky bed. 

I have driven through Rockville frequently in day-time 
without seeing a man, and sometimes without even hearing a 
woman. 

At the western end of Rockville a dirt road leads from the 
Turnpike to Birdell Station. In walking down the hill to the 
railroad, one need only glance to the right or left, to find the 
reason for the name of the village he is leaving. Rocks are 
everywhere. In the corn grounds and hay fields, wood-lands and 
meadows, you see them pushing their heads up through the 
soil, while in many instances they have succeeded in getting 
their entire bulks above it. 

[ 22 





"This is the Bkandyvvixe/' Page I'o. 



About a quarter of a mile above Birdell Station, on the 
Wilmington and Northern Branch of the Reading Railroad, not 
far from the point where Two Log Run empties its bright waters 
into the Western Brandywine, I met an aged man standing on 
the roadside, in a contemplative mood, and thinking I might 
glean some valuable reminiscences from him in relation to the 
stream, I inquired — 

" Will you kindly tell me where the Eastern and Western 
Branches of the Western Brandywine meet?" 

" This is the Brandywine," he replied, " this stream in front 
of us." 

" Yes ! I know, but this is the combined stream. There 
are two branches ; where do they meet ? The Eastern Branch 
crosses the turnpike near Rocklyn Station, to the west of Rock- 
ville— " 

"Well, this is it." 

"But where is the junction?" 

"Junction?" said he, "there aint no junction!" 

"But," said I, endeavoring as best I could to clarify his 
mind, "you know the stream that comes down by Hughes's 
Mill-" 

"Yes." 

" Where does that enter the stream that crosses the Pike ? " 

"Where does that enter it?" he repeated, and looked at me 
in surprise. "Well, now, that's a ^we^^/on-." Then he seemed 
to view himself in blank astonishment, as he added ," Yes, that's 
a question— a hard question." 

I climbed the fence into a meadow, and he started down the 
road toward Birdell Bridge. When he did so, I turned about 
and felt a little compunction of conscience as I saw him slowly 
walking down the road, bobbing his head, and sounding his stick 
with every step he took— the conundrum was too hard for him 
to crack — hand and stick and high tottering voice, were all re- 

23 ] 



peating, "Now, that is a question ; yes, that's a hard question." 

Since then I have made the same inquiry of other persons 
in Honeybrook, and have found many of them equally ignorant, 
but not all of them equally honest. 

And yet, it was an easy question, for just a quarter of a mile 
north of the mouth of Two Log Run, in a little copse, the 
branches meet. The western one comes all the way from Bear- 
town, and is a child of the mountains — born on their southern 
slope. A traveler who wishes to see its birth-place can take 
the railroad to Beartown and climb the wooded mountain side, 
or follow the stream to a great spring, in a land of cedars. 

For myself I prefer the walk^I cordially endorse the sen- 
timent of Ruskin, that a quiet walk over not more than ten or 
twelve miles of road a day, is the most amusing of all traveling, 
and all traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity. 

" Going by railroad," as he very properly observes, " is not 
travelling at all ; it is merely being sent to a place and very lit- 
tle different from becoming a parcel." 



[24 



THE BEAUTIFUL GARDEN. 




" Fled are those times, when, in harmonious strains, 
The rustic poet praised his native plains." 

Crabbe— The Village. 

ROWSING among the records in the Re- 
corder's Office at West Chester, my eyes 
fell upon the following words : 

"A certain tract of land called ' beauti- 
ful garden'— being part of the Honora- 
ble Proprietaries tract of seven hundred 
acres in said township." 
The mortgage that contained these 
words was dated 1774, the mortgagor was Thomas Gardner, the 
township was West Nan tmeal— that portion of it which after- 
wards became Honeybrook. 

Sentiment in a Chester County mortgage is rare, astonish- 
ingly rare. Where was the garden referred to ? Was it natural 
or cultivated? alongside of the Great Road that ran through 
Honeybrook, or far from the prying eyes of a curious public ? 

Such questions and others like them pressed themselves 
upon my mind, with visions of flowers and walks and shade 
trees and glittering streams. 
25] 



J^^m^e^ ^fi^orvS 



The only clue in the description was a reference to William 
Gibbons's land. Of all the tracts surveyed between 1718 and 
1720, near the head of the Western Brandywine, that of James 

Gibbons was the largest— a rec- 
tangular piece of twelve hundred 
acres in the heart of Honeybrook. 
Shortly after it was acquired, the 
Paxtang Road was opened through it diagonally ; then, other 
roads passed along its sides. To the south of it lay the triangle 
of John Steen, but in the conveyances of neither of these 
geometrical properties was the contiguity of a beautiful garden 
so much as hinted at. Let the instruments show its location ! 
According to them it must be near the southeastern corner of 
Gibbons's land. It is near the southeastern corner — it adjoins 
it and embraces — Rockville ! ! ! 

I doubt if Faust was quite as much surprised upon finding 
a student in the dissipating vapor as I was upon discovering a 
part of my garden in that geological village. 

In locating the garden, I located a hero, or rather I came 
across traditions of a hero on an adjoining farm. William Gib- 
bons—a grand- 
son of the origi- 
nal James, and 
an inheritor' 
with his brother 
of the twelve 
hundred acre 
plantation, was 
what Thomas 

Carlyle would have called "a genuine man sent into this our 
ungenuine phantasmagory of a world which would go to ruin 
without such." 

When the Revolutionary War broke out, he answered his 

[ 26 




country's call in person. The Battle of Brandywine found him 
commanding a company of militia, and his manifestation of 
soldierly qualities quickly raised him to the rank of Colonel. So 
intense was his patriotism, that on the sale of one of his farms, 
he refused to accept in payment anything but Continental mo- 
ney. " It is the money of my country," said he, " and what is 
good enough for my country, is good enough for me." Let the 
money depreciate and become practically worthless, still will he 
refuse the generous offer of the purchaser to make good the 
loss. Such qualities might be expected in the son of one, of 
whom Doctor Darlington called " the queen of the county." 

As a widow, Jane Gibbons alone had faced a British Gen- 
eral. When the live stock of her farm had been driven off for 
the use of the British army, she had made a personal applica- 
tion to General Howe for the recovery of a favorite cow. 

" Madam, may I ask your name ? " said the General. 

" My name," she said, " is Jane Gibbons." 

" Have you not a son in the rebel army ? " he inquired. 

" I have a son in George Washington's army," she answered. 

" I am afraid, madam," he replied, " that you love your cow 
better than your King." 

Admirers of Howe's facetiousness, must admit that Mrs. 
Gibbons's son James squared the account with some of his 
Majesty's officers, who were making themselves merry at a way- 
side inn, where he frequently stopped in passing to water his 
horse. 

They were criticising the ignorant country boors engaged 
in rebellion against their king, when the inn-keeper happened 
to see Mr. Gibbons at some distance, driving up the road. Turn- 
ing to his guests with assumed indignation, he said : 

" I'll wager twenty pounds that the first farmer that drives 
past this house can speak more languages than the whole kit and 
crew of you, put together ! " 

27 ] 



" A bet ! " they cried, and the money was staked. Soon af- 
terwards Mr. Gibbons stopped, and one of the party saluting 
him in French, was civilly answered in the same tongue. 
Another, in very bad Spanish, asked him if he was a French- 
man, and he answered in very good Spanish, that he was born in 
Chester County, and had never been in France. There was a 
pause in the conversation, and putting their heads together, a 
quotation from one of the Satires of Horace, was aimed at him, 
and they found, to their amazement, that this plain-looking 
farmer was a good Latin scholar. By this time Mr. Gibbons 
perceived that he was on trial, and he put them completely to 
rout by a volley of Greek, which none of them could under- 
stand. The happy inn-keeper won his bet, and the Chester 
County farmer went his way, little suspecting that this odd trial 
of tongues had cost the enemy twenty pounds. 

Not long afterwards, a well educated officer in command of 
a foraging party from the British army, entered the residence 
of Mr. Gibbons, and found him in his study. Saluting him 
rather familiarly, and looking at the shelves, well filled with 
books, he remarked — 

" You are a clergyman, I fancy ? " 

" No, I am not," was the reply. 

" A doctor, perhaps ! " 

" I am not a doctor." 

" Pray, then, what is your profession ? " 

" I am a Chester County farmer." 



[ 'S 



ICEDALE, 



' All the folk in Altafiord 

Boasted of their island grand ; 
Saying in a single word, 
Iceland is the finest land 
That the sun 
Doth shine upon ! " 

Longfellow — The Saga of King Olaf. 

" I saw a maiden on a stream, 
And fair was she." 

Hood— The Water Lady. 

CEDALE ! Ice-houses ! Capacity thirty- 
thousand tons." 

"Thanks for the information, I feel 
cooler already." 

Perhaps the name contributes some- 
thing to the sensation, for avowedly the 
name is almost as interesting as the dam 
is picturesque, and the picturesqueness 
of the dam will be denied by no one who 
has seen it from the high land west of 
Brandywine Manor Church. Quiet and unruffled it lies at the 
foot of the Barren Hill, in the hollow designed for it by nature 
— a little enlarged by man. 

To me, it would seem impossible for the Consumers Ice 
29 ] 




Company to paint a more attractive sign upon their wagons than 
an accurate representation of this sheet of water. But I hold 
no brief for the Company, to the President alone am I indebted 
for two most delightful days upon their property. Their prop- 
erty ! Not exactly theirs, theirs and mine, for " the beautiful is 
the property of him who can hive it and enjoy it." 

The road from the railroad station to the bungalow on the 
south side of the dam is rough and stony, but compensation is 
found in the walk to the landing, which is edged with flowers. 

Once at the landing it is the work of a minute to unlock the 
boat, take to the water, and then — freedom. 

In withdrawing from the bank I feel a joy strangely akin 
to that experienced by Rousseau on the lake of Bienne, " a se- 
cret congratulation of my being out of the reach of the wicked " ; 
perchance, a deeper joy than his, for Rousseau was never Dis- 
trict Attorney. Like him, I relish the experience that comes 
from letting the boat float " at the mercy of wind and water, 
abandoning myself to reveries without object and none the least 
agreeable for their stupidity." 




''''iwiilllllMI 



m'M i'."i 



After a little rest, I take up the oars and row through a 
sluice-gate on a line with the broken dam breast of what was 
once Beaver Dam. 

[ 30 



When did it acquire its name ? I can not tell you, any more 
than I can tell you when the last amphibious quadruped of the 
genus Castor gave these banks a parting slap with its trowel- 
like tail. Such questions are not answered in the dust-covered 
records of our county. 

Beaver Dam ! At last we have met. Often have I marked 
the roads that led to your retreat, often have I wondered what 
you looked like, and now, after a long walk I see you more 
beautiful than my dreams. 

And yet, candidly, when I was climbing the Barren Hill ( for 
I came by the back road ) I sat down among the ferns along the 
road-side, and longed, not so much for you, as for roads such 
as Rabelais saw in his Island of Odes ; " roads that travel like 
animated beings, where those who travel them, ask, ' where does 
the road go to ? ' and then hoisting themselves on the proper 
road without being otherwise troubled or fatigued, they find 
themselves at their place of destination." 

From the breast of Beaver Dam to the ice-houses is a half 
mile. For me, both "breast" and "dam" are here, notwith- 
standing the insistence of some pedants that there is no dam 
except the breast. Doubtless one could very properly call the 
pond in front of me " a lily-sheeted lake," but such wordy dis- 
putes I leave for those who relish them. I throw my Trench 
aside when I start for the Brandy wine. To look at this long 
stretch of sleepy water begirt with lilies, to watch the bass leap 
up in play, to mark the sun-kissed spots along its banks and the 
pictures on its glassy surface is quite enough to make one lose 
all care for nicety of words. 

Among the lilies— just beyond the sluice-gate— I see the fair 
face of a youthful friend. A faithful bull dog swims in circles 
near her boat, and follows it from cape to cape, occasionally 
scampering along the bank, but usually swimming with a strong, 
sure stroke, close to its mistress's oar. 
31 ] 



Up the stream we go, surprising the frogs that look at us 
with blinking eyes ; surprising the snakes that rapidly uncoil 
themselves and take a sudden, graceful dip beneath the brush 
whereon they lay ; surprising a lone fisherman in his secret 
haunts, who grunts his disapproval of our interference with his 
piscatory rights, careless ourselves of hidden rocks or sub- 
merged stumps, charmed with the beauty of the scene. 

A rippling burst of laughter near a turn discloses three 
small children in a little row-boat, splashing the water with their 
feet ; another turn reveals a house-boat left by Reading fisher- 
men, while just beyond it at a sharper bend, a flowering island 
divides the stream. Here I insist upon my friend alighting 
till my camera snaps. 

Then, on we go, still further up, by patches that remind one 
of the South, the stream full to the brink, with banks reduced 
to lines, and here and there great trunks of trees across the 
water, leaving scanty passage-room for boats ; but on ! with 
energy we push the boats around or through the branches, when 
lo ! a little road bridge ! we have reached the end. 



[32 



A STUDY IN GEOGRAPHY. 



" From such quaint themes he turns at last, aside 
To new phiiosophies that stiil are green, 
And shows what railroads have been tracked." 

Hood— The Irish Schoolmaster. 

ABBLING through a " gap " in the Bar- 
ren Hill, as the inhabitants of West 
Cain would say, or at the " end " of the 
Barren Hill, as the farmers of West 
Brandywine would put it, comes our 
stream, recklessly plunging along until 
it finds another imprisonment in Hat- 
field's Dam. 

Before the Reading Railroad Company established a freight 
yard at Brandamore, the gap could be seen for miles. From 
wooded curve to curve there hung a veil of blue, a blue that 
somehow differed from the blue of either sky or sea, receding 
as you approached, until it touched the tips of the Welsh 
Mountains that mark the northern limits of Chester County 
and hide the county of Berks. 

To-day the beauty of the "gap" has almost vanished, or 
rightly stated, is seldom visible ; great clouds of smoke weave 

33 ] 




sombre webs across the opening between the hills, and coming 
closer one sees naught but freight and dirty engines. 

Who seeks for sylphs and dryads here will seek in vain ; a 
careful search for cool retreats, however, will show at least one 
not far off. In a clump of trees, a little below the dam breast, 
an opportunity is offered to stretch one's self, and incidentally 
to watch five streamlets racing through the rocks. Five prison- 
ers do they seem to me escaping from confinement. Two of 
them find easy passage ; two others, fret and fume and strike 
with foaming rage each rock and root they meet with in their 
courses ; the last, moves far less quickly, but more cautiously ; 
by many a twist and turn freedom is sought for, until at length, 
through tangled underbrush, a break is made into the open, 
when all unite and journey southward. 




The race bank opposite me leads to a mill. I follow it and 

[ 34 



seating myself under an overhanging chestnut, mentally open 
up my township maps. 

North of the Barren Hill lies Honeybrook— originally Nant- 
mel ; south of the Barren Hill lie West Cain and a portion of 
West Brandywine, originally Cain. 

Nantmel was named by the Welsh, Cain by the English, 
who partially rebuilt along her numerous streams the mills of 
Wiltshire. In the Revolutionary War, when Carmichael— the 
friend of Washington— was collecting linen for the patriots at 
Valley Forge, bitter complaint was made by him of a mill owner 
of Cain, who refused to grind so much as a bushel of corn for 
their relief. 

Cain was too large for a single township, and in 1728, the 
settlers sought to divide it. 

" It was never Yet Bounded," said they, "but on the East 
side joining Whiteland Town ; . . . extends in length above 
fourteen miles and in breadth near fourteen miles. That the 
furthest settlers back from the Great Road leading to Philadel- 
phia living so remote from the said Road seldom have notice to 
come down to repair it, which often wants by reason its so 
abused and cut with the Dutch Wagons which daily pass and 
repass along the said Road." For the "ease of the township" 
they humbly desired that its bounds might begin " at the land of 
Whiteland on the south side of the said Town of Cain and so 
extend from the said line westerly along the Valley Mountains 
to the West Branch of Brandywine Creek then up the 
said Branch northerly to the plantation of Joseph Darlington 
then Easterly along the Mountains Between ye plantation of 
Thomas Eldredg and the Indian Town to David Roberts, then to 
the Bounds of Uwchland." 

For the western part of the township the petitioners sug- 
gested the name of Cain Grove ( Speff orth is written in the mar- 
gin and Cain Grove is crossed out), but the Court very properly 

35 ] 



disregarded the suggestion and looking upon the Brandywine 
as the natural dividing line, named it West Cain. 








After the division had been made, East Cain held its own 
for more than half a century, its first reduction occurring in 
1790, by the erection of Brandywine Township from its north- 
ern part. In 1853, its territory suffered further diminution by 
the formation of Valley Township on the west, then followed the 
incorporation of Downingtown on the Eastern Brandywine in 
1859, and the creation of Cain Township in 1868, which re- 
duced the eastern division of the original tract to such small 
proportions that one has to seek for it diligently to find it, and 
having found it on the east side of the East Branch, can only 
fittingly express his feelings in Byron's exclamation over Greece : 

" Shades of the mighty, can it be 
That this is all remains of thee?" 

Brandywine Township maintained its dimensions for half a 

century, and then in its turn was divided by a line running north 

and south. 

[ 36 



This division took place in 1844, each part adopting the 
name of the Branch on which it bordered. 




In 1853, West Brandywine contributed a little to the making 
of Valley Township. In 1859, it borrowed a fraction from East 
Brandywine, and one year later materially increased its size by 
taking the western part of Wallace and the south-east corner of 
Honeybrook, including the Presbyterian Church of Brandywine 
Manor. 

With the exception of a narrow strip on the south the town- 
ship of West Cain remains to-day as it was originally created. 
In comparing it with other townships, Futhey says it is " more 
hilly." This is an exceedingly mild topographical statement, 
it is mountainous. As far back as 1743, its inhabitants com- 
plained of being " situate on the backside of a mountain . . . 
Very Difficult to be Crost with Leadened Waggons or Carts," 
and having no convenient highways, prayed the Court to grant 
them "the benefits of a road . . . across the aforesaid 
Mountains." 



37 ] 



BRANDYWINE MANOR CHURCH. 



'What is a church? Let Truth and Reason speak, 
They would reply, ' The faithful, pure and meel< ; 
From Christian folds the one selected race, 
Of all professions and in every place.' 

• * « » 

'What is a church?" Our honest sexton tells, 
'Tis a tall building with a tower and bells. 

* » « » 

' 'Tis to the church I call thee, and that place 
Where slept our fathers when they'd run their race." 

Crabbc — The Church. 

RANDAMORE suggests Brandywine Manor 
and the trip is worth the taking. You turn 
to the left at the Wagontown Road and to 
the right at a little graveyard near the top 
of the next hill. No ! I am mistaken. Un- 
less devoid of sentiment and curiosity, you 
do not turn to the right— at least not imme- 
diately. You stop and inquire of a laborer in an adjoining field, 
or in some other way acquaint yourself with this Seceders' 
Cemetery, this memorial of Gillatly and Arnott, containing in- 
side its four walls about an eighth of an acre, and kept in re- 
pair by the descendants of those who obtained the site. The 
oldest stone that meets your eye is dated 1763, the newest, 1880. 
The donor of this piece of land was one John Gilleland, and 
somewhere in it, lies the body of his only son, who was mur- 
dered by Hessian marauders shortly after the Battle of Brandy- 

[ 38 




wine. I brush the weeds and briars aside and seek to find his 
resting-placa. Alas ! no lettered stone reveals it, his is an un- 
marked grave, tradition alone preserves his memory. 




A quarter of a mile or so from Seceders' Cemetery, on one of 
the highest points of land in West Brandywine Township, over- 
looking the surrounding country for miles in all directions save 
westerly, sits Brandywine Manor Church, ecclesiastically known 
as the Forks of Brandywine. Seek not to discover the act- 
ual forks in the landscape before you ; to find them, you must 
travel fifteen miles southeastwardly across the rough and scraggy 
Valley Hills to the far-off Lenape Meadows. Standing in this 
church-yard vainly striving to discern somewhere in the neigh- 
boring valleys, the union of the Eastern and the Western Brandy- 
wine, one realizes the elasticity of the ecclesiastical language of 
the Eighteenth Century, which made " the forks " include the 
territory between the headwaters of the Brandywine in Honey- 
brook Township, and the confluence of its two main branches in 
East Bradford. 

39] 




At Brandywine Manor, visitors are not infrequent. Some 
come to enjoy the varied and extensive views which the church's 
elevated sight affords ; others, to wander and meditate among 

her tombs ; and a few, of whom 
I am one, to turn over a page or 
two of ecclesiastical history and 
glance at her meeting-houses 
and pastors. 

The first name to present it- 
self is Adam Boyd, a masculine 
character, pastor of the frontier 
churches of Octoraro and Pequea 
'^ and preacher to the Presbyterian 
f^ «^-^. ,v T > - ■ settlers of Northern Cain and 

Southwestern Nantmel. 
In 1734, two years before the Paxtang Road was laid out, 
and a score of years before it was actually open and fit for use, 
the people of the Forks of Brandywine presented " a supplica- 
tion " to the Presbytery of Donegal sitting at Octoraro, " for lib- 
erty to erect a meeting-house for him to preach in sometimes." 
The liberty asked for was granted and the meeting-house was 
built. In material and construction it was simplicity itself. 
McClune, who could find little authentic information regarding 
it— nothing but a few probable remains of its foundations and 
some "questionable collateral statements"— locates it in the 
Upper Grave-yard. A small building " about forty by twenty- 
five feet," he figures it, " fronting the south, 
made of unhewn logs, ridged and notched ^,^Z/7 
at the corners and let into a king-post at (^^^"fZ^^SM^ 
the middle of each side. It was low, dimly 
lighted, unplastered, and without any means of obtaining heat. 
Logs cleft in two and smoothed on one side served as seats, and 
the pulpit was little more than a rough, elevated table." 

[ 40 



Two years later, when Samuel Black was installed at a 
salary of fifty-five pounds, or one hundred forty-six and two- 
thirds dollars, the church membei'ship was still small, necessarily 
small, for this section of Chester County was not closely settled. 
" The Commissioners who laid out the Paxtang Road," observes 
McClune, " make no mention of farms or buildings of any kind 
except the Presbyterian Meeting-House, in the entire distance 
from the Welsh Mountains, or Lancaster County line, to several 
miles east of this place. Indeed, even so late as the Revolu- 
tionary War, roads were little better than bridle-paths through 
the forest." 

In looking over the Road Docket of 1763, I find John Car- 
michael, at that time pastor of the Manor Church, complaining, 
with others, of the inconvenience under which they have la- 
bored for want of even a " bridle Road between the Great and 
the little Connostogo Roads ending at the New Presbyterian 
Meeting-house on the little Connostogo." 

The complainants might well say, " new meeting-house ; " 
for between 1736 and 1763, two meeting-houses had been built. 
Hardly had Black settled in his pastorate until a difference of 
views began to manifest itself, not only in the Presbytery, but gen- 
erally ; a little later it developed into "the Great Schism ; " then 
charges and counter-charges followed each other, culminating in 
the protest of 1741, when the majority of Black's parishioners 
withdrew, "the minority by amicable arrangement or deter- 
mined resistance, keeping possession of the meeting-house and 
grounds." 

The meeting-house of '44 was built just above the Lower 
Grave-yard, and like the first 
fronted south. McClune describes 
it as " a well constructed frame 
building, forty-five by thirty- 
five, one-story high, with a hipped roof and without a gallery." 

41 ] 




In 1760, a union of the congregations took place, and the 
second meeting proved too small. A few years later it was used 
as a shed for horses, saddles and umbrellas— an adjunct to the 
Manor Meeting-house which was commenced in 1761, the mis- 
nomer, Brandywine Manor, given to the first post-office estab- 
lished within the boundaries of Springton Manor being applied 
to the church itself. 

At the laying of its corner-stone, in accordance with well- 
established customs, a twenty-shilling note was handed, as a 
" Trinkgeld," to the masons employed in its erection. Stimu- 
lated by this and various other means, the building soon grew 
into a substantial and commodious House of Worship. To heat 
it, vessels of sheet-iron shaped like millhoppers, were placed 
in the aisles and filled with live coals. One evening in 1783, 
some live coals fell on the floor and started a fire ; the sexton 
saw the flames, but believing in apparitions, let what was burn- 
ing, burn. 

Speedily, however, a second Manor Meeting-house with more 
modern conveniences, arose ; a sounding-board being intro- 
duced for the preacher's ease, and some ten-plate stoves for the 
congregation's comfort. Among the prominent contributors to 
this building were Dr. Rush, Benjamin Franklin, Edward Ship- 
pen and David Rittenhouse. In 1760, the church extended a 
call to John Carmichael. This call recites some of the congre- 
gation's troubles, and is worthy of reproduction, but fear not, 
gentle reader, my space confines me to a few sentences : 

" it Lys Near the Seat of the Synad— and has Been Ever 
Reputed one of the Most Healthy places as it is high Land and 
fule of good springs. It is a Compact Congregation & a few 
of Different Denominations Intermixed. . . . 

" Even in the Midst of all these Distresses our Case was not 
soe peculiarly Dangerous as now by reason of the Ceceders Un- 
wearied Industry to propigate their Scheme & Make a party 

[ 42 



which in Some Measure they have Effected and some has said 
that if we Cannot obtain your Settlement Necessity wile oblidge 
them to Joyne the Ceceders & if this is the Case Brandywine 
has done and we May only sit Down & Lament over the Ruins 
of the Congregation & seeing the house of God turned to a 
Draught-house & our Children left to Rove a Number of Meer 
Sceptics without any regard to God or Religion. A Dismel Re- 
flection but likely to be the Case if Mr. Carmichael shuts his 
ear to the Crye Throw Brandywine off as a Vessale of Destruc- 
tion, . . . 

" Now Dr Sr we Unitedly Renew our Application to you in 
the Lang-uage of Ruth to Naomi, Intreat us not to Leave you 
nor from following after you." 

But I must close these old records. "Do you find them 
faded and musty ? " inquires one. Faded, but not musty, fra- 
grant rather ; fragrant with memories of Dean and Carmichael 
and Grier, men who were anxious to illustrate the Gospel of the 
Glory of God. Such virtues as John Carmichael possessed, such 
energy and faithfulness, such wisdom and tact, such absolute 
adoption of the Eleventh Commandment as the cardinal rule of 
his life, would be sufficient to sweeten and illumine any page of 
ecclesiastical histoiy, sufficient to redeem our poor human nature 
from a thousand sarcasms and satirical moralizings. Cain and 
Nantmel, at least, can never forget him ; their hills and valleys 
were "the witnesses of his ardent devotion when living, and 
still retain his memory with unshaken fidelity." Were the 
sainted Stanley living, I am sure he would pardon my application 
of two lines of his eulogy on ^ 

Rutherford, for his generous >^^ f^TTliiAcuS 
and appreciative spirit could ^ KT^ 

not fail to recognize in Car- 
michael a magnificent copy of the pastor of Answorth. 

During the closing days of Dr. J. N. C. Grier's pastorate 
43] 




which extended over half a century, Judge Futhey and Wilmer 
W. Thomson visited Brandywine Manor Grave-yard to inspect 

its monuments. As they started 
to leave, they noticed the ven- 
erable Doctor in the doorway of 
the church wrapped in thought. 
When they advanced he heard 
them and hastened toward the 
cemetery gate to meet them. 

" Doctor," observed Thomson, 
interrogatively, " you knew many 
of those who rest here ? " 

Clasping the hand of his ques- 
tioner in one of his own, he hesitated for a moment, over- 
come with emotion, and then, slowly raising his right hand and 
stretching it out as far as he could, replied with great so- 
lemnity, 

" I baptized them, married them and buried them." 
Above the Seceders' Cemetery, on a westward line from the 
Church, is a mass of rock half-hidden by some trees. From the 
top of this rocky eminence it is said seven churches can be seen. 
To the northeast, in the valley of the Eastern Brandywine lies 
Glen Moore. Fairview rises on the hill beyond. Following the 
Turnpike westwardly for six miles, as it stretches toward the 
Welsh Mountains, the churches of Honeybrook Borough are 
visible, while southwardly three miles or more, on the eastern 
side of the Western Brandywine, stands Hibernia. I have never 
verified this statement, but I have strolled along a narrow by- 
road that runs into the woods north of the cemeteiy, where 
members of the Manor Congregation tell me. Dr. Grier was 
often seen walking to and fro on Sunday mornings, rehears- 
ing his sermon for the day, and arranging his " fifthlys " and 
" sixthlys." 

[ 44 



4V»» 






> I Ti ' Tl 



vn'] 



M\ 




I Baptized Them, Married Them and 
Buried Them. 



Brandywine Manor Church well illustrates the remark of 
McClune : 

"The Presbyterians indicated the locality of their first 
Meeting-Houses and the religious associations connected with 
them, by giving them the names of the nearest known natural 
objects, as streams, valleys, levels. Thus Great Valley, Ne- 
shaminy. Deep Run, Head of Christiana, Octoraro, Doe Run, 
Chestnut Level, and Forks of Brandywine, or in the quaint style 
and orthography of Adam Boyd, * the Fforks.' " 

The Friends, rejecting the Indian names as savoring of 
heathenism, called their houses of public worship after the town- 
ship in which they were placed, as Birmingham, Goshen, Uwchlan, 
Nantmeal and Cain. That they did so is a matter of regret, as 
it has caused the original names of nearly all the streams in 
Chester County to be forgotten. In Lancaster, Berks, and other 
counties, a majority of the water-courses retain, with some 
modification, the names they received from the Aborigines, but 
in Chester County two streams only, the Pocopson and Octoraro, 
perpetuate the remembrance of the most friendly and unwarlike 
of the Indian tribes." 

Could Time but be persuaded to roll the years backward, 
how interesting to see— if only for a moment— some of the old 
parishioners who were wont to attend this place ; the genial 
physician in his two-wheeled gig ; the blushing bride dismount- 
ing on an " upping-block " under a shade tree near the entrance, 
and tarrying for an instant to adjust her hair by the aid of a 
bucket of water as a looking-glass ; the creditors of a bankrupt, 
forgetful of the beatitude of the merciful, seizing and selling 
the very pew of their unfortunate debtor ; interesting would it 
be even to hear the boisterous teamsters from Pittsburg, on 
their heavy wagons, maddened by the arrest of one of their 
number, timing themselves so as to pass the church exactly at 
the service hour. Time, however, refuses — obstinately refuses — 

45] 



to grant my request, but memory recalls for me a Sabbath morn- 
ing under these trees while this church was going up, and pre- 
sents to my eye a restless boy on a rickety bench, listening with 
rapt attention to John Thompson, as he preaches from an im- 
provised pulpit his famous sermon on "Heaven." It is a circui- 
tous route to the Celestial City by the District Attorney's Office, 
but perchance, perchance, Deo Volente, I shall meet him again. 




[ 46 



ON TO HIBERNIA. 



" I am not one of those 
So dead to all things in this visible world, 
So wondrously profound— as to move on 
In the sweet light of heaven, lil<e him of old 
(His name is justly in the Calendar) 
Who through the day pursued this pleasant path 
That winds beside the mirror of all beauty. 
And when at eve his fellow-pilgrims sate, 
Discoursing of the lake, ask'd where it was." 

Rogers — Italy. 

ROM Seceders' Cemetery to Hiber- 
nia Church, the public road par- 
allels the Brandywine at a distance 
of a quarter of a mile or so and 
is intersected at three points : near 
Lafayette School-house, a stone's 
throw below the property once oc- 
cupied by Dr. Grier ; on the slope, 
south of Albin Reed's ; and again 
at Little Paoli, a half mile further on. 

The first of these intersecting roads winds down a stony 
hill, over rough brakes, crosses the Wilmington and Northern 
Railroad and leads to a ford. On the further end of a log that 
serves as a foot-bridge, I notice a ragged urchin of six summers 
trying to measure the distance between his foot and the water. 
Upon discovering me he quickly draws up his legs and scampers 
off. Later on, reinforced by two girls older than himself, he 
slowly ventures down the road, with all the curiosity of child- 
hood, to watch " the stranger." Stranger? ah, child! I am no 

47] 







stranger here. Each feature of this country has lurking mem- 
ories, whose tendrils clutch my heart. A quarter of a century 
before you were born I made this ford my stopping-place on 




every Sunday trip to Brandywine Manor Church. Like you, I 
sat and calculated distances— not perpendicular, but horizontal 
ones— and sometimes, when the sun was streaming down the 
railroad tracks, a youthful pilgrim found himself delayed upon 
enchanted ground, persuaded that this stream made sweeter mu- 
sic than the Manor Choir. 

At the next bridge, on the public road below Reed's, a little 
girl in overalls has left her mud pies, and leans over the guard- 
rail intently watching the fish play hide and seek in the shadows. 
She sees me coming and grasps the rail more tightly, then wipes 
her cheek on her shoulder, throws back her tangled hair, opens her 
big blue eyes, and smiles so sweetly that at once I think of Haw- 
thorne's " sunbeams struggling through a dirty window pane." 

[48 



Full thirty years ago, and yet it seems but yesterday I stood 
beside this very bridge and waited for the evening train to 
drop my weekly portion of Fargeon's " Bread and Cheese and 
Kisses," neatly wrapped in Harpers. Spot of my youth, what 
memories call from every bush and nook ! From yon high rock 
how often have I seen the angry Brandywine rise furiously and 
spread itself until the meadow-land was one wide water-field. 
To boyish eyes, the leafless trees were masts of ships, and logs 
swept down from some decaying bridge were great sea monsters 
which one could see far off, and when the raging current brought 
them— as it sometimes did— close to my standing place, out went 
the iron hook and rope to catch them— they were whales and I a 
whaler. Nor did I share these sports alone, for there were 

others, but •< they all are gone 

Into the land of shadows— all save one." 

The stones that marked the harbor of the old flat-bottomed 
boat have disappeared, but even now I hear the rattling of the 
chains that bound my " Nancy " to the willow, and grasp again 
for her deliverance two chestnut oars made out of splintered 
fence rails. As night comes on, I see the gig-lamps moving 
here and there among the alder bushes like giant fire-flies, until 
some splash or outcry breaks the spell— betrays the carriers. 

A peaceful life it was, with restful Sundays and some sacred 
hours. Beneath a chestnut tree on yonder hill, I read the solemn 
words of Baxter's " Call," and felt the overpowering presence 
of the Eternal Judge. Saintly old Baxter, how unfashionable 
you have become. In these feverish days, for the most part 
your " call " falls on ears that are " deaf to a' things but the 
chink o' the siller." Many have grown so wise with the wis- 
dom of Spencer that they have ceased to wonder — almost ceased 
to feel, save when they hear some Hjerrild saying to his dying 
friend, " Let us be honest, we may be whatever we like to call it, 
but we can never get God quite out of Heaven." 

49 ] 



The road that passes Cedar Knoll climbs the hill eastward 
to Little Paoli, which consists at present of a house and a black- 
smith shop. The house was formerly a tavern, but after its li- 
cense was discontinued, it slowly developed into a store. In the 
summer of '75, when I first made its acquaintance, Enoch Wor- 
rall was storekeeper. Calico and mint candy were its staples, 
and with each purchase a bit of advice was thrown in. Enoch 
was a versatile man— a capital story teller, a keen debater, a 
small philosopher, and above all, a staunch Presbyterian. No 
one ever had occasion to ask who kept the store, for its proprie- 
tor could always be seen walking up and down the road in 
front of it munching candy, thus serving the double purpose of 

advertising his goods and 
-»^^>r: <o .»>->■ jsv-&-.'^*»*'^^^ preventing torpidity of 

the liver, of which he 
lived in constant dread. 

The cross-road at Lit- 
tle Paoli leads straight 
to Hibernia Church. This 
church was built by Meth- 
odists about 1850 ; as long 
as the rolling mills on the Brandywine were going, it was well 
attended. The building is severely plain, with seats as straight 
and rigid as any Orthodox Quaker could ask for. Of its pastors 
the best was Townsend, whose sermons were neither long nor 
learned, but loud and hortatory. The congregation waited 
in the church-yard until they heard his carriage strike the stony 
road at Little Paoli, after which, if the wind was not contrary, 
his voice — unmusical, but praiseful — was distinctly borne to 
them. He timed his melody so as to strike the chorus at the 
blacksmith shop near the church. In muddy roads he sang |, 
when roads were good, |. 

Townsend had no doubts ; for him the Bible was an inspired 

[50 




book, Jesus Christ a Saviour of the lost, and Heaven a home. 
He knew in whom he had believed, and his message was one of 
love and hope and rest : 

" In simple faith like those who heard 
Beside the Syrian sea 
The gentle calling of the Lord," 

he lived and labored and died. 

From the church yard you look out upon the hills beyond 
the Brandywine. Formerly a public road led down to the 
stream, but it has long been vacated. In the days when Hiber- 
nia Forge lighted up the country-side throngs of working men 
and women tramped up this road to worship. Hibernia Church 
was then known far and wide ; her " Special Services " were 
always crowded, and her " Harvest Homes " were magnets that 
drew all the neighborhood together. 

In 1799, Samuel Downing wrote " that at very considerable 
expense he had erected and nearly completed a Forge on the 
West Brandywine for the man- 
ufacturing of Pig into Bar 
Iron in West Cain Township 
known by the name of Hiber- 
nia Forge." Downing's sen- 
tence is a little twisted ; so is the stream that runs through 
the property once owned by him, so is the railroad that ac- 
companies it. As for Hibernia, it no longer stands for forges 
and fighting Irishmen, but for a picturesque bit of country 
through which passenger trains go whizzing without a stop— a 
country for anglers seeking sport, for lawyers courting isolation, 
in short, for every lover of nature who cares to see his mistress 
in her most attractive dress. 

On account of its wild beauty, Hibernia possesses a peculiar 
fascination. I share the feelings of its present owner, Col. 
Franklin B. Swayne, who regards it as a veritable Eden. 

51 ] 




" Eden " may be a little strong. " Fortunate " was the name of 
endearment applied to it in the Eighteenth Century before the 
forge was erected ; " a tract called Fortunate," so ran the 
language of the conveyance to Samuel Downing. I know that 
there are those who say that " Fortunate " was the wording of 
the vendor, and that you never find it used after the fires were 
started, but envy can say anything. 

At the breast of the upper dam opposite the site of the old 
forge, I love to fling myself upon the sod and listen to the water 
as it goes dashing over the rocks. So often have I visited this 
place that even the little water snakes that lift their heads above 
the surface and cast their eyes about them, have ceased to view 
me with suspicion. 

Along the lower dam the approach to the mansion house is 
a most romantic one. Graceful ferns, rugged rocks and arch- 
ing trees, present themselves in ever varying combinations. 
" God made it," says the owner, and I echo the sentiment. 

The mansion house sits on a hill to the right of the stream. 
When the Brookes owned the Forge, this house was the centre 
whence roads and paths radiated toward every point, making 
a kind of labyrinth. " Go out as you came in," remarked one in 
authority to a trespasser. " Faith, I know not how I got in," 
came the reply. 

Since the occupancy of Colonel Swayne many of these roads 
have been abandoned, some of them formally vacated. One of 
the latter was almost as stony as the bed of the creek near 
which it lay, and yet, although the water used frequently to 
overflow and hide it altogether, so that utility might well com- 
mend the action of the jury, I doubt if all West Cain can show 
to-day a piece of public road quite so romantic as that which 
used to stretch along Birch Run. 

Birch Run is a sportive little stream that empties into the 
dam on its western side, at a point where the road to the house 

[52 





'^% ' , 



begins to ascend. Everybody halts on the wooden bridge that 
spans the creek, to glance at its waters sparkling and flashing 
with bubbling music ; now, jumping over rocks, now, hiding un- 
der beech trees, dancing in the sunshine, eternally playing and 
prattling as if there were no serious business on earth, rejoicing 




that the streamlet was born in West Cain, and joyfully bearing 
its contribution to the Brandywine. 

Crossing the bridge, the road winds up the slope to the 
house, which recently has undergone material alterations. Its 
lawn still lacks some trees, all else appears complete. Its com- 
fortable fire-places invite to contemplation, and sitting by them, 
one can dream the hours away most pleasantly. The present 
owner is a genial gentleman, fond of his dogs, his books and his 
home, with a little pardonable pride for his ancestral kindred 
who first took root in this locality. 

S3 ] 



In 1738, Francis Swain was the owner of two tracts of 
^^(7 land containing about four 

C^^?^^^^<^ <^^c^-CL^ hundred acres. These tracts 
Jy were situated a little south 

^ of Hibernia, one of them em- 

bracing the site of the present village of Wagontown. 

Wagontown was then known as " Londonport-town," with 
" Popish Plains " not far off. On the east side of the Brandywine, 
but a little distance from Hatfield's Dam, was "Deer Park"— so 
the Penns called it, when they conveyed it to Andrew Culbert- 
son, and one who wanders over it to-day will agree that it was 
rightly named. 

Perhaps the best view of Hibernia in its entirety is that 
which one gets on the road from Little Paoli to the Church. 
One gets it, however, not by staying in the road, but by jump- 
ing over a fence or two and walking to a point where both dams 
are visible. Had West Cain nothing else to show but this po- 
etical wilderness with these two sheets of sparkling water lying 
in the bosom of these mountains it would be glory enough for 
one township. The hills and valleys of this wildly wooded 
country rise and fall like the swell and drop of the sea. Beauti- 
ful as is this spot in the daytime, it is doubly so at night, when 
the floating moon conceals its deformities and touches every 
tree and rock and ripple with its mystic, shadowy half light. 
" Farewell, Hibernia ! " I exclaim, as I leave it. " Farewell," 
reply two children in a boat, and as they say the word, I look 
once more at the lake and the lilies, and particularly at the old 
toppling stone wall on the further shore — the link that binds the 
present with the past — I shall never see it again. 

But I must haste toward Wagontown, quenching my thirst 
at the Railroad Spring — climbing the hill at the station and 
stopping at the summit for a moment to look back upon Hatfield's 
Dam and the Bridge, the next moment I turn and find myself on 

[54 



the Lancaster Road, which leads eastward past Siousca. For 
many, unfamiliar with its history, this old road is nothing but a 
common country highway, hilly, stony and uninteresting. For 
me, however, 

"the old road blossoms with romance, 
Of covered vehicles of every grade ; 
From ox-cart of most primitive design, 
To Conestoga wagons, with their fine 
Deep-dusted, six-horse teams in heavy gear. 
High hames and chiming bells — to childish ear 
And eye entrancing as the glittering train 
Of some sun-smitten pageant of old Spain." 




55 ] 



BRANDYWINE INN. 



" At the bridge, 
The horses sudden tramp the sounding planks ; 
Where passes oft the Conestoga team, 
Ringing Its own announcement of approach, 
With shoulder shaken bells— a monster wain, 
Slow, rumbling, and which oft in winter sends 
The shrilly creak from frosty wheels afar." 

T. Buchanan Read— The New Pastoral. 

" The whole world being a large and noisy Inn, and he, a 
wayfarer tarrying in it as short a time as possible." 

Bishop Leighton — Stanley's History of the Church 
of Scotland. 

OWN in a hollow across the stream from 
Siousca, looking out upon Pennock's 
Dam, is, or rather, was Brandywine 
Inn, for its career as a public house is 
ended. 

The last effort in its behalf was made 
in 1890. Besides the common argument 
of necessity, various historical and sen- 
timental considerations were urged upon 
the Court ; it was located on a Provincial Road, boasted the 
name of a romantic stream, and incidentally suggested three 
varieties of drink. But the Court was neither convinced by ar- 
gument nor moved by sentiment, and forced the inn to settle 
down into a quiet country farm house. I have never examined 

[ 56 





its cellar, never sat at its table, but if I wished to die in an inn, 
it is here I would pull off my " miry boots." 

As I rest for a little while on the porch of this old hostelry, 
twilight induces thoughtfulness and thoughtfulness passes into 
reverie— a reverie that is broken by a childish voice exclaiming, 
" I hav'n't seen a wagon pass this evening." 

"And I have seen a hundred," I reply. Yes, a hundred 
Conestoga wagons have successively left the Sign of the Wagon 
on the top of the hill west 
of the Brandy wine, have ,€ 

lumbered down the road 
and forded the stream. I 
heard the sharp cracks of 
the drivers' whips, and 
their sharper curses, as 
the weary horses strained 

and tugged to pull their loads up the steep banks, 
the wagons as they passed by me, every white top spotted with 
water and speckled with mud. I watched them slowly climb the 
eastern hill toward the Black Horse, and wind down the stony 
slope beyond the tavern, designated in the original survey as 
" east southerly." I saw them halting at the Ship, crossing the 
Brandywine at Downingtown, greeting other Conestoga wagons 
at the junction of the Lancaster with the Paxtang Road, and 
pushing on to the Delaware. 

And borne along by fancy I followed the course of the 
stream as it slowly moved through the dark dam and joyfully 
leaped over its breast. I shouted my approval, as it played with 
the children on the rocky beach at Rock Run. I lost sight of it 
when it passed under the mighty arches of Coatesville Bridge, 
but caught it again entering Mortonville Dam, where it lingered 
long enough to gather energy for its anticipated plunge. 

I watched it dashing up in spray as it swept past Indian 
57] 



\T 



%- '' — 




Rock— on through the rich meadows of Bradford, until it met 
its sister stream, and with the sweep of a river, flowed south- 
ward toward the Delaware. 

To my strained eyes, the road, seemed like a succession of 

hills— the stream, like 



a succession of turns. 
Life has both. With the 
1^^ deepening twilight, I 
find myself comparing 
and questioning : Am I 
a traveler on life's road, 
or a mere leaf on its 
stream ? Memory points 
out many a curve that I have rounded on a seemingly resist- 
less current, but something within me insists that I am still a 
traveler — a traveler who declines to accept the tavern philoso- 
phy of Quarles — 

" Our life is nothing but a winter's day, 
Some only break their fast and so away, 
Others stay dinner and depart full fed, 
The deepest age but sups and goes to bed." 

I have enjoyed a long summer — I have not yet supped — I ex- 
pect to climb many a hill, and when at last I go to bed, I hope to 
see the sun rise in the morning. 

For the benefit of the historically inclined, who may think 
my poor weak fancy is disposed, now and then, to ignore the so- 
ber facts of history, I submit a petition, filed in 1770, which 
presents a picture of difficulties at this point that only those 
who have seen the Brandywine after a storm, can properly 
appreciate : 

It was called " Little," but it was found to be " hard to pass 
over," and wagoners were " obliged to leave their wagons froze all 
night in said creek," and " cutt them out " the next morning. 

[ 5S 



^ 






§v 







The old inns of northwestern Chester County would make 
an entertaining story, but unfortunately, through a mistaken 
policy of the Commissioners, twenty years ago, all the papers re- 
lating to them were permitted to be taken away, and have since 
been divided up. From the little I have been able to glean, 

59 ] 



their names were as varied as their locations. Many of them 
were borrowed from the animal kingdom, a few, like the " Sign 
of the Rainbow," were more or less romantic, while here and 
there a name, such as the " Sign of the Wild Cat," was strikingly 
suggestive of the entertainment furnished within. 

In one of the plots of Hibernia Forge, a road is mentioned 
as leading toward the " Red Horse." Black Horses were then 
common, so were White ones. Three miles east of the Brandy- 
wine, a " Black Horse " can still be seen, and this very Lancas- 
ter Road had a " White Horse " near its junction with the Pax- 
tang Road, in Whiteland. 

But where in Chester County would you expect to find " a 
red horse prancing on the sign " ? To see even a sorrel, one 
must go to Delaware County. And yet, when you consider it, 
what perfect symbolism a red horse furnishes — at least to Bibli- 
cal readers. 

In 1787, grief was publicly expressed by the inhabitants of 
West Cain on account of the inconveniences experienced by 
them in reaching the " Red Horse." 

" We find ourselves aggrieved," they say, " for the want of a 
public road to lead from the Wilmington Road to the Lancaster 
Great Road, which we find very inconvenient by obliging us to 
go about three or four miles, whereas if there was a road across 
we might at least go in a mile." 

The language in the body of the petition was for the un- 

j^. sophisticated, the endorsement on the 

^^He/vfjy back disclosed its real significance: 

^::::i~ ~^W^Mj " Road from a White Oak Tree on the 

^^^~V5^^^-^^^tc3 Wilmington Road to William Henry's 

■ ' ~':'^ffi»f,.<^. Tavern." I never knew much of 

^.^%^'"'"' Henry's history, but I have felt more 

or less sympathy with him since the time I first discovered 

that Cornwallis stole his clothes. 

[ 60 




/^^^ ,^^*e^^ a/^/^ u^^^ ^ ^/^^ ^/^ 



In Reading Howell's map of 1792, but one inn— the Red 
Lion, appears on the Paxtang Road between the Manor Meeting 
House and the county line, and on the Old Lancaster Road, 
between the Ship and the Compass, but one— the Waggon. 

In the early part of the Nineteenth Century, both these 
roads were lined with 
taverns. The little vil- 
lage of Wagontown 
had two— The Turk's 
Head (now McFar- 
land's Store), and The Waggon (now Grubb's). 

On the Horse Shoe Pike, which, with some slight devia- 
tions, followed through Honeybrook the course of the Paxtang 
Road, the traveler had the widest latitute of choice. 



that welllcDOWD tavern stand 

SIGN OF THE •• WAGGOK'" 
On the otijl'ancasier road, 38 miles froRji 
Philadclpfeitt and 25 from Lancaster, to- 



On leav 
or Meeting 
first met the 
If the enter 
of this hos 



THE RISING SON TAVERN. 

SITUATE in Hoiieybrook township, 
two, miles \ves£ o{ the manor meet- 
ing ho\ise, on the Downtngtovvn and 
Harrjsburgh turnpike road, with 122 



ing the Man- 
House, he 
Rising Sun. 
tainment 
telry was un- 



satisfactory, it was but a short walk to the Eagle ( at Rockville ), 
or the Red Lyon (at Rocklyn), and if the potions there supplied 

6i ] 




were not sufficiently strong and spicy, he could lose himself and 
his money at the Wild Cat. 

During the second War with 
England, most of these taverns were 
recruiting points. At Sarah Hughes's 
tavern (Little Paoli), in Brandy- 
wine Township, the field company 
and staff officers of the Brandywine 
Regiment met, uniformed as far as 
practicable, with side arms and firelocks, and continued there 
during the time of three whole and successive days, in order to 
be disciplined according to law. 

About the same time, the gentlemen composing the Chester 
County Troop, and other gentlemen wishing to serve their 
country in the way of troopers, were invited to the Turk's Head 
at Wagontown, and the Mariner's Compass ; while the Brick, not 
to be outdone, opened its doors to all persons who were disposed 
to join a new corps of artillery. Broad sword exercise was ad- 
vertised " at John Gibson's Sign of the Eagle, on Monday, and on 
the next, at Whistler's Sign of General Wayne." 



[ 62 







MAP SHOWING LOCATION 

OF 



OLD I 



63] 



PENNOCK'S DAM AND OTHER DAMS. 



" Over the wheel I, roaring, bound 
All proudly, 
And every spoke whirls swiftly round, 

And loudly. 
Since 1 have seen the miller's daughter, 
With greater vigor flows the water." 

Goethe — The Youth and the Mill Stream. 

HAT is the largest body of water in 
Chester County ? 

Some years ago this question was not 
infrequently propounded to applicants 
for Teachers' Provisional Certificates. 
Those who had seen Pennock's Dam 
answered the question correctly — the 
remainder failed. 
While the day of its supremacy is over (Icedale having 
eclipsed it, and several others equalled it), its past honors and 
present beauty forbid our ignoring it. On the tufted islands 
near its head the blue heron still lights, on the green banks of 
its western side tired laborers from the mills of Coatesville still 
find comfortable resting places. 

The road along the dam was made for lovers. What sighs, 
what vows these trees have heard ! This certainly is Love's va- 
cation ground in summer ! Vacation ground ? No, I withdraw 
the words, for here he plies his arts assiduously, here shoots his 
arrows with most careful aim. And well he may, for the Revo- 

[ 64 




lutionary Home of the Whig Association of the Unmarried 
Young Ladies of America can yet be seen a mile beyond these 
western hills. In 1778, they pledged their honor " never to give 
their hand in marriage to any gentleman, until he had first 
proved himself a patriot in promptly turning out when called to 
defend his conntry." Since wars have ceased, I have heard it 
said that the female descendants of the original members of this 
Association have shown a disposition to compromise on Candi- 
dates for County office. For the truth of this statement, how- 
ever, I cannot vouch. 




Half a mile from the breast of Pennock's Dam, down the rail- 
road track, you come to Rock Run Beach. Many of the dwelling 
houses in Rock Run Village front on the public road leading to 
Coatesville, their yards sloping down to the stream. When the 
water is low that part of its bed which is uncovered, is enjoyed 
by the children of the neighborhood in common. I saw it once 
on a summer's afternoon when it looked like a bank of flowers. 
Upon drawing nearer my illusion was dispelled. What I had ta- 
ken for flowers were fluttering garments that partially concealed 
the bodies of a lot of little bathers, who were rolling about, half 
naked, with all a child's delightful unconsciousness. Some of 
the children you see there are so small, you wonder the stream 
does not wash them away, others so dirty, you feel you are look- 

65 ] 



ing at their first dip. How they enjoy it. Up to their ankles, 
up to their knees, up to their armpits, stumbling over the rough 
stones and slipping on the smooth ones, falling against each 
other and splashing and shouting in childish glee — a happy, rol- 
licking scene is Rock Run Beach at bathing time. After the 
bath the bathers dry their suits upon their backs. Rock Run, 
which gives its name to the village, is the largest tributary of 
the Brandywine above Coatesville. Like Birch Run, it has its 
source in West Cain, and on its way used to turn a number of 
mills. To-day these mills, for the most part, are closed, and 
their dams are almost filled up. On the bridge that spans the 
Brandywine at Rock Run Village the most prosaic soul will 
stop instinctively to view the mountainous hills that rise on 
either side, with their break-neck slopes and masses of rock. 
The sinuous stream, the little cottages which the sun relieves of 
squalor and touches with gold, cottages that look as if they 
might have been washed down from the top — these, with groups 
of children at the water's edge reaching for flowers, and maidens 
exchanging confidences under the trees on the opposite side, 
make up part of a picture which once seen is rarely forgotten. 




Strolling down the railroad to the breast of Worth's Dam, 
you halt again to face a beauty that you can neither adequately 

[ 66 



sketch nor describe. How charming must this stream have 
been in all its virgin purity before its defilement by man. Beauti- 
ful by day, it seems a ministering angel at night, as it rushes 
down the valley to cool the flaming furnaces which stand with 
gaping mouths and fiery tongues under the Pennsylvania arches, 
that circling high above the stream, are lost in clouds and smoke. 

The machine-shop past which carts are coming and going, 
and behind which boys are throwing their lines into the race, is 
a landmark. It was once a part of Fleming's old mill. 

In 1744, there was surveyed and laid out to George Flem- 
ing, a tract of two hundred and thirty acres of land in West 
Cain, on the western part of which he shortly afterwards built 
" a water corn-mill or grist-mill." 

While " as yet there were no roads to nor from said mill," 
he obtained a connection ( on paper ) with a road leading to Wil- 
mington, but had great difl^culty in getting the Supervisors of 
West Cain " to call the inhabitants of ye township to cutt and 
clear ye sd roads." 

This was one of the earliest mills on the northern part of 
the Western Brandywine, the earliest being a saw mill on the 
Brandywine not far from the present Icedale Station. Some 
say the foundation stones of this mill, laid in 1740, can yet be 
seen. 

In 1749, Francis Swain erected a saw mill on his plantation 
near Wagontown, and prayed for a road leading into the Great 
Road to Wilmington. 

Some years later a road was laid out and used, which was 
known as " Swayne's Mill Road to Wilmington." 

In conveying mill properties to-day we treat them with a 
disrespectful brevity, using any terms that occur to us, such as 
" messuage and tract of land," or " land and buildings thereon 
erected," leaving " tenements and hereditaments " to complete 
the description, but in the early days their owners sketched them 

67] 



with much minuteness of detail, as if loath to let them go. 
And not unreasonably, for in many instances they had hewn the 
timber, had marked out the races, had carried the stone, had 
opened up roads to the far-off markets. When they parted with 
them, they transferred to their grantees " all the mulctures, tolls 
and profits, all the implements, gears and utensils, all the head- 
wears, mill dams, mill ponds, banks and stanks." I doubt if a 
grantee of to-day who happened to see the word " stank " in his 
deed, would know what he was getting, and I am sure that many 
a conveyancer could not inform him whether it was a burden or 
a benefit. Bouvier does not give it, and the word without 
more has an unsavory odor. But it is not so bad as it sounds ; 
it may be a mound to dam up water, 

" Stank up the salt conduits of mine eye," 

says Fletcher. It may represent the pool itself. Call it a 
"round pool," and how beautiful it becomes, a round pool like 
that described by George Eliot in her Mill on the Floss, " framed 
with willows and tall reeds," and with " gentle rustlings " and 
"light dipping sounds of rising fish," with Tom and Maggie 
sitting on its brink looking at the glassy water, and wonder- 
ing, perchance, " about Christian passing the river over which 
there is no bridge." 



[ 68 



HAND'S PASS. 



" The Farmer, fond and familiar, 

Revealed liis luck and his gains : 
At last o'ercome by the liquor. 

His hands abandoned the reins — 
He slept till the morning awoke him, 

Away in the woods alone, 
To find that his clothes were rifled, 
And his friend was Moses Doan ! " 

Everhart — The Doans. 

' Some he did rob, then let them go free. 
Bold Captain McGowan he tied to a tree. 
Some he did whip and some he did spare, 
He caught Captain McGowan and cut off his hair." 

A local rhymster of Fitzpatrick' s time. 

and's Pass! Examine Robert 
Brooke's survey-book of the 
Philadelphia and Lancaster 
Turnpike, and you will note on 
one of its pages the following 
course : " S 85 w, 7.0 to angle 
at Hand's pass." As then 
laid out and used, this angle 
occurred three-fifths of a mile 
west of the 37th mile stone, 
and about two-fifths of a mile 
west of a road that led " from the Turnpike road across the Gap 
road at Fleming's Mill to the new Lancaster or Strasburg Road." 
Since Robert Brooke in 1806 was sufficiently interested in the 
pass to sketch it, I have thought that those who are familiar 
with its history, might find pleasure in his drawing. 
69] 








[ 70 



In Revolutionary times this rocky pass was the favorite 
haunt of two notorious robbers, James Fitzpatrick and Mor- 
decai Dougherty, whose names and deeds are still invested with 
the glamour which too often attends successful villainy. Seated 
on a rock that affords me a view of the pass and the valley 
with which it connects, Balzac's analysis of a criminal career re- 
curs to me : 

"A man first sins against his conscience; then he con- 
spicuously sins against that delicate bloom of honor, the loss of 
which does not mean general disrepute ; finally he fails distinctly 
in honesty ; but though he falls in the hands of the police, he 
still is not yet amenable to the assizes ; and even after the dis- 
grace of being condemned by a jury, he may be respected on 
the hulks if he maintains the sort of honor that exists among 
villains, which consist in telling no tales, in always playing fair, 
in sharing every risk." 

Fitzpatrick and Dough- 
erty had passed through 
all the stages mentioned 
by Balzac, and had finally 
reached the point where 
they were veritable out- 
^ laws. It is true, "the 
disgrace of being con- 
- demned by a jury," had 
not been incurred by 
them, but this was largely 
owing to the fact that the two rogues had never given any 
twelve good men an opportunity of conferring this degree. 

Fitzpatrick was the son of an Irish emigrant. Bound to a 

blacksmith at an early age, in a few years he became an expert 

at his trade, and by the time he reached his majority was widely 

known, not merely as a horse shoer, but as a hunter, wrestler, 

71] 




Sign of Cross Keys. 



"roller of bullets and thrower of fifty-sixes." With brawny 
arm, and blue eyes fairly shining with daring, he was called 
from the forge to the flying camp, which he accompanied as far 
as New York, where he was charged with a breach of discipline 
and flogged. At once he deserted the army, swam the Hudson 
River, made his way across New Jersey to Philadelphia, was 
recognized, apprehended, and lodged in the Old Walnut Street 
Prison. Released on condition of re-entering the service, he 
deserted again, and returned to his home in Southern Chester 
County. 

While working on John Passmore's farm in West Marl- 
borough, he was re-arrested, and only recovered his liberty by 
subterfuge. Inflamed with hatred on account of his corporal 
punishment and successive arrests, Fitzpatrick became " an ac- 
tive, unscrupulous partisan of the cause of the King." 

Dougherty was reared in the same neighborhood as his Cap- 
tain (West Marlborough being responsible for both), and the 
two worthies were as much alike as two drops of water. 

Hand's Pass was their headquarters in Chester County, 
from which place of concealment they issued on their desperate 
expeditions and daring adventures. 

Fitzpatrick was also a companion of the Doans. In a low 
groggery on Chestnut Street, in the City of Philadelphia, he had 
met the notorious "Moses," tested his prowess in a bout and 
been badly beaten. Thereafter they were boon companions. 
In his History of the Doan Outlaws, John P. Rogers names 
Fitzpatrick and Moses Doan as the two most feared and re- 
nowned refugees of that trying period ; " Fitzpatrick the ban- 
dit of Chester and Doan the brigand of Bucks." 

" Moses," like Fitzpatrick, was a ruddy faced, heavily built 
man, of enormous strength. His big black scalloped-rimmed 
hat thrown back upon his head, displayed a heavy jaw and a 
large mouth. In winter time, his bear skin overcoat, with pis- 

[ 72 



tol butts protruding from its pockets, added not a little to his 
vicious look. His stout legs were usually encased in blue yarn 
stockings, and his shoes shone with broad French silver buckles. 
He loved display, and was proud of his family, whose strength 
and agility justified the remarks of General Howe— "the most 
daring fellows that ever lived. I believe the devil himself 
couldn't match them." 

Possibly on this rock on which I sit, they sat and ex- 
changed their confidences. And what confidences they were. 




How chagrined " Moses " must have felt as he told Fitzpatrick of 
the robbery at Clingan's place in West Cain. Clingan was a 
Magistrate who lived on the Old Lancaster Road a little west of 
Wagontown, and who enjoyed the distinction of having been a 
member of the Continental Congress. These facts, however, 
did not deter " Moses " in the least, but rather invited a visit, par- 
ticularly when he understood that in some business transaction 
Clingan had received a large amount of gold. While searching 
for it, one of " Moses' " companions announced that he had found 
it. Clingan's desk had been opened and there stood a large 
leathern bag full of money. Seizing this bag and also a violin 

73] 



with which to have a jubilee over their luck, they mounted their 
horses and rode off. The bag, however, which they had sup- 
posed to contain gold was filled with copper, being the church 
collections which Clingan had brought home from Sunday to 
Sunday. 

Fitzpatrick, on the other hand, could proudly relate how he 
met an old woman near Cain Meeting House, on her way to the 
City with all her little stock of money, to procure a stock of goods ; 
how, not knowing him, and but little expecting at that time 
the honor of his company, she made known her fears that as 
Captain Fitz was in the neighborhood she might fall into his 
clutches and be robbed of her whole fortune ; how, after obtain- 
ing her secret, he told her he was the man she dreaded, but as- 
sured her there was nothing he would disdain so much as to 
wrong a weak and defenceless woman ; and how, to prove his 
declarations true, he had drawn from his pocket a purse of 
guineas, presented it to her, and wished her a pleasant journey 
as he turned off into the woods. 

Despite his many crimes there was, as one has observed, " a 
rough chivalry in the character of the man which exhibited it- 
self in his marked gallantry toward women, in his open, gener- 
ous disposition to aid those on whom ill fortune bore heavily." 

Lewis, who wrote a number of interesting articles on Fitz- 
patrick, particularly emphasized his Irish traits of wit and gener- 
osity. " He had his peculiar humor, which he frequently in- 
dulged at the expense of others. Even in his treatment of 
those whom he chose to punish, he often proceeded in such a 
manner as to render them objects of ridicule, rather than pity. 
He despised covetousness, and in all his depredations was never 
known to rob a poor man. Indeed, he often gave to the poor 
what he took from the rich. 

" The Whig Collectors of public moneys were the especial ob- 
jects of his vengeance, and all the public money which he could 

[ 74 



extort he looked upon as lawful prey. One of these men he 
not only plundered of a large sum, but took him off to his cave 
in the woods, where he detained him two weeks, to the great 
alarm of his family, who supposed him murdered. He was often 
pursued by whole companies of men, but always escaped them by 
his agility, or daunted them by his intrepidity. On one occasion, 
fifty or more persons assembled, well armed, and resolved to 
take him if possible, dead or alive. They coursed him for some 
hours over the hills, but becoming weary of the chase, they 




'/ -'^ ^ *^^^^^ji^;<.tms^M'^ 



Pass School House. 



called at a tavern to rest and procure some refreshments. While 
sitting in the room together, and every one expressing his wish 
to meet with Fitz, suddenly to their astonishment, he presented 
himself before them with a rifle in his hand. He bade them 
all keep their seats, declaring that he would shoot the first man 
that moved. Then, having called for a small glass of rum and 
drank it off, he walked backward some paces with his rifle pre- 
sented at the tavern door, wheeled and took to his heels, leaving 
the stupefied company in silent amazement. 

75 ] 



" Not long after this occurrence, another party of eighteen 
or twenty men was hunting with guns and rifles upon the South 
Valley Hill. Stepping from behind a tree, he presented himself 
to one of the company separated a short distance from the rest, 
and asked him whom he was seeking? The man answered, 
' Fitz.' ' Then,' said Fitz, ' come with me and I will show you 
his cave, where you may find him.' The bold man-hunter went 
accordingly. After leading him some distance from his com- 
panions, Fitz told the fellow who he was, bade him ground arms, 
tied him to a tree, cut a withe and flogged him severely. He 
then told him he might go and inform his companions where to 
find the Fitz they were hunting. When they had arrived at the 
place he had decamped." 

Fitzpatrick and " Moses " sowed the wind and reaped the 
whirlwind. In August, 1778, Fitzpatrick was arrested by Cap- 
tain McAfee near Castle Rock, and on September 26th, was hung 
at Chester. After the capture of his Captain, Dougherty fired 
a parting shot and disappeared. " Moses " was shot by Cap- 
tain Gibson, on the Tohickon, and his brothers were— but let 
Everhart tell their end : 

"The people poured in the city, 

As if to a feast or fair ; 
And all of the streets were crowded 

That led to Center Square ; 
And up, on a dizzy platform, 

With clerks and men of the law, 
Three rogues, arrayed in their halters, 

Waited the terrible draw ! 
Black caps were over their faces, 

And each had a ghostly shroud ; 
Their hands were pinioned behind them. 

And the Parson prayed aloud : 
Then came a marvelous silence — 

And then a shock and a gleam — 
The last of the Doans were swinging 

From under the gallows beam." 

[76 



COATESVILLE. 



" But ere his death some pious doubts arise, 
Some simple fears, which ' bold bad ' men despise ; 
Fain would he ask the parish priest to prove 
His title certain to the joys above." 

Crabbe — The Village. 

N the world to come if Providence as- 
signs me a place as comfortable as 
Coatesville, I shall be content." 

I asked to have the sentiment re- 
peated, and the editor did it un- 
blushingly, without changing a word. 
He knew, or thought he knew, his 
borough topographically, industrially, 
politically and morally, and this was 
his estimate. Never having heard a citizen of my County use 
such eulogistic terms even of the County-seat, and Coatesville 
being but a country town, I stood amazed— the thought of fu- 
ture habitations in this place had never occurred to me. 

It led me to philosophize with Henry Giles upon the ten- 
dency in our nature to idealize the country of our affections : 
" which clothes an uncouth edifice with glory ; which causes the 

77 ] 




sight of a treeless mountain to stir the heart like the sound of 
a trumpet ; which moves us to weeping by the hearing of a 
rustic tune. Men will hold with the utmost tenacity of af- 
fection, to countries the most unsightly, the most unpicturesque 
and the most unlovely ; they will cling to regions, barren and 
inclement, aye, and love them just as fondly, as if they were 
veiled in Araby the blest, or were the fairest spots in the fair- 
est districts of Italy." 

I would not have my readers believe for a moment that the 
environments of Coatesville are unsightly and barren. On the 
contrary (when you can see them), they are wild and pic- 
turesque, the kind that lay a tenacious hold upon the memory ; 
but the smoke is everlastingly obscuring these hills so that it 
does seem most incongruous to associate this hollow with Para- 
dise. Still, the sentiment is patriotic and honors our humanity. 

" The spirit is bound by the ties 

Of its jailor the flesh ;— if 1 can 
Not reach as an angel the skies, 

Let me feel on the earth as a man." 




As originally laid out, Coatesville was somewhat coffin- 
shaped. The ill omen which attended her birth, however, never 
seriously affected her development. She has filled up the valley 
of the Brandywine with her mills, and scattered houses over the 
slopes of South Mountain ; she has eclipsed Phoenixville in her 
industries, and now equals West Chester in her claims. 

[ 78 



In the Eighteenth Century it might not inappropriately 
have been called Flemingsville, but the less euphonious and 
more obvious name of Bridge-Town was applied to it, from the 
bridges over the Brandywine. Robert Brooke's 
draft of 1806 shows three. West of the Brandy- 
wine was the village of Midway. When the Penn- 




sylvania Railroad was first built it had its terminal at Columbia, 
and Midway was just half way between Columbia and Phila- 
delphia. The old Midway House was the passenger station for 
the railroad, when it was owned by the State, and it continued 
to be used as such for a number of years after the railroad had 
been purchased by the Pennsylvania Railroad Company. 

In the course of time, Moses Coates, the son of an Irish 
Quaker, the inventor of the "self setting saw mill" and the 

owner of large 
tracts of land on 
both sides of the 
Brandywine loaned 
his name to Bridge- 
Town and it became 
Coates- Villa. 
About 1810, Isaac 
Pennock bought a saw mill on the Brandywine, a short dis- 
79 ] 




tance South of the Turnpike Bridge and converted it into 
an iron mill. The house to which he brought his bride, some- 
times referred to as "the first house in Coatesville," was not 
pretentious, but in those golden days, love in a cottage was not 
a dream of poets, but an actuality. 

It is surprising how well trained every citizen of Coatesville 
seems to be in the catechism of his borough. Ask him what in- 
ducements the town offers, and he will at once reply, "Six, 
abundance of good workmen, unsurpassed railroad facilities, 
cheap fuel and raw material, fine factory and mill sites, excellent 
water, and generally a beautiful, healthy and delightful resort." 

So frequently do you hear these reasons, so overwhelmed 
are you by their reiteration, so submerged is your mind that 
upon coming to the surface again you find yourself uncon- 
sciously sputtering, "abundance— unsurpassed— cheap— raw- 
fine —excellent —beautiful — healthy — delightful. " 

On pay-days an army of foreigners leaves the mills, and heads 
for the hotels. It is a weekly harvest for the proprietors, whose 
white-coated bartenders stand ready to receive them. At nine 
o'clock the throng is thickest. " Are you all down, and is your 
all down ? " If so, then make room for others, for others are 
coming. 

The work of counting money is reserved until later. When 
the midnight hour has struck you will find some of these white- 
coated men retiring into an inner room to add the notes and 
the silver ; one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hun- 
dred, five hundred, the end is not yet— so vanishes the result of 
the labor of the sons of toil. " Money was made round, let it 
go round." Such is the cardinal axiom of their philosophy. 

Coatesville is largely cosmopolitical. Polanders and Rus- 
sians, Italians and Swedes, descendants of Attila, and descend- 
ants of Ham, all have a place in the procession on its streets, 
and justly so, for all have had a part in producing the cargoes 

[ 80 



of steel that go northward and southward on the line of the 
Wilmington and Northern Railroad. How the engines heave 
and snort and tug and strain ! At last they move ! Steel for 
the army ! Steel for the navy ! Steel for the agriculturist ! 
Steel for the mechanician ! Steel ! Steel ! This is the age of steel. 
A man who cannot tell you a rule of grammar, but knows 
the color of steel, draws the salary of a judge. Another, who 
is unable to write his name, collects his weekly wage of fifty 
dollars, for he knows the proper heat for steel. 

" What friend is like the might of fire, 
When man can watch and wheel the ire ? 
What e'er we shape, or work, we owe 
Still to that heaven descended glow." 

Steel built that great house on Main Street. Steel built the 
town and steel sustains it. All hail to the power of steel ! but 
despite Schiller's exclamation, " the might of fire " does burn out 
some of the virtues, does consume some of the finest instincts. 




SOUTH MOUNTAIN. 



" Oh ! I have travelled far and wide, 
O'er many a distant foreign land ; 
Each place, each province I have tried. 
And sung and danced my saraband. 

But all their charms could not prevail. 
To steal my heart from yonder vale." 

Henry Kirke White— The Savoyard's Return. 

N the crest of the high hill south of 
Coatesville, known in some of the 
old records as "South Mountain," 
you find yourself overlooking the 
town, or rather, overlooking the 
smokestacks which constitute that 
portion of the town that borders 
on the Brandywine. 
What a number of stacks there are ! What a multitude of 
chimneys belching out thick black smoke ! You begin to count 
them, and when you have about completed the calculation some 
little chimney sends up a throatful to remind you that you have 
overlooked it. Count again, but you will never include them all. 
Looking southward, you mark the course of the Brandywine for 
half a mile or so by the same kind of black smoke. You are in 
the land of mills— plate mills, tube mills, paper mills. 

[82 




Your County History will tell you that Lancelot Fallowfield, 
of Great Strickland, Westmoreland County, England, was one 
of the first purchasers of land from William Penn. Not long 
afterwards John Salkeld, a noted Quaker preacher, who came 
from that part of England, bought Fallowfield's right, took up 
his land, and may have suggested his name. What an eccen- 
tric character Salkeld was. How beneficial his presence would 
be in some of our churches to-day. In speaking of the social 
life of the Irish Friends, Myers says : " It not infrequently 
happened that some good Friends, wearied with the arduous du- 
ties of the week, would drop 
off into restful slumber. But 
woe betide these offenders of 
good order and the testimony 
of truth, if John Salkeld 
chanced to be present at the 
meeting ! Their dreams were 
then of short duration. On 
one occasion . . . when 
he noted several members 
overcome with drowsiness, he 
suddenly sprang to his feet, 
exclaiming, ' Fire ! Fire ! ' 
Every one was awake imme- 
diately, and one of the ex- 
cited sleepers cried out, 
'Where? Where?' 'In Hell!' 
responded John, 'to burn up 
the drowsy and unconcerned.' " 
South Mountain, on which 
I stand, is in East Fallowfield 
Township— the home of the first rolling mill in America. 

" My great grandfather," says A. F. Huston, " moved into 
83] 




A. F. Huston. 



East Fallowfield Township to a place now called Rokeby, about 
1793, and established a mill for rolling sheet and strip iron. Its 
name was 'Federal Slitting Mill,' run by water-power— Buck 
Run. This was the first rolling mill in America, so far as I have 
been able to learn. 

" The strips were slit up ( hence the name slitting mill ) 
into rods for making nails. All nails were then forged out of 
rods by hand on the anvil. There were no boiler-plates made or 
needed at that time. I have an old ledger of the slitting mill 
bearing the date of 1798, which was probably about the date of 
the first work done at the mill. Rebecca, daughter of Isaac 
Pennock, married Dr. Charles Lukens, the latter going into 
partnership with his father-in-law. But in 1816, the doctor and 
his wife moved to Coatesville, where he operated the mill called 
Brandywine ( now Lukens ). It was the first and for many years 
the only mill at that place. It was there the first boiler-plate 
made in Pennsylvania, was manufactured. It is probably, too, 
the first in America, so Dr. Charles Lukens ( my grandfather ) 
was the pioneer in this branch of the iron manufacture." 

Coatesville is bounded on the north by Rock Run, on the 
south by Bernardtown. Bernardtown is not given much space 
on the map of the County, indeed, if I remember aright, it is 
not even printed in small type, but in the Quarter Sessions of 
Chester County its productivity is seen in its quarterly crops of 
crime. 

My attention was first called to it by the testimony of Of- 
ficer Umstead, Chief of Police of the Borough of Coatesville, 
in a case where he had made a raid on a notorious house in that 
neighborhood, and undertook to describe his experiences. 

" How many persons were there ? " asked the prosecuting 
officer. 

" About forty," replied Umstead. 

" How many persons were in the room when you got there ? " 

[84 



"Three." 

" What had become of the rest ? " 

"Stuck in the front door, back door, windows, chimneys, 
holes in the boards, and cracks." 

Is it possible, thought I, that this description can be correct. 
I resolved to visit it, and found on a side of one of the hills of 
East Fallowfield, a lot of chicken coops just high enough to al- 
low for comfortable roosts. 

" What kind do you raise ? " I asked a colored woman, whom 
I took to be the owner, " leghorn or dominie ? " 

" Dem aint no chicken coops— dem's houses." 

" Dwelling houses ? " said I. 

" Dwellin' houses," said she, and dwelling houses they were, 
with double-faced wall paper for partitions. 

" And the store boxes to the right of them, what are they ? " 

But the owner had left me, I must make my own investiga- 
tions. 

"What do they use these store boxes for?" I queried. 

My question was answered by a curly head peeping out 
through a broken board, then another, and still a third at the 
door ; the door reminding one of the opening in an East Afri- 
can hut, where the occupants ask their visitors, not to " walk 
in," but to " crawl in." 

As the box in front of me had a placard on it, giving the 

name of the owner, I determined to take it down for future 

reference. When I got within reading distance, this is what I 

read — 

"Rooms to Let," 

Below the bridge which one crosses in going to Bernardtown 
the Brandywine makes a great turn to the east and then chang- 
ing its course a little westward passes through the hamlet of 
Modena. 

This Village was named after the Modes, who were among 

85] 



the earliest settlers. William Mode, who died in 1839, at the 
age of eighty-seven, said he well remembered the Indians — 
" men, women and children— coming to his father's house to sell 
baskets . . . that they used to cut and carry off bushes 
from their meadow, probably for mats to sleep on." In Wil- 
liam's boyhood, " deer were so plenty that their tracks in the 
wheat field in time of snow were as if marked by a flock of 
sheep. Wild turkeys in the winter were often seen in flocks 
feeding in the corn and buckwheat fields, while squirrels, rab- 
bits, raccoons, pheasants and partridges, abounded." 

From Modena to Mortonville a distance of two miles the 
walk along the public road is alluring. Are you fond of wild 
flowers?^ Do aged buttonwoods stretching their white arms 
across the stream, striving to clasp their comrades on the other 
side appeal to you? Is it a pleasure to rest yourself against 
a fence rail and watch mud-turtles sun themselves on the logs 
of a slough? Have unexpected turns, jutting rocks, massive 
boulders surrounded by laurel, or streamlets playing leap-frog 
over stones that try to obstruct their freedom, any interest? 
You will find them all in these two miles of road, and when you 
have passed the last rocky turn, Mortonville lies before you— the 
westernmost village of Newlin Township. 

Of the many bridges with which the Western Brandywine 
is spanned from Coatesville to the Forks, one only is of stone. 
Stirred by some aesthetic impulse, the Commissioners, in 1826, 
determined to build a bridge at Mortonville that should be 
woi'thy, at least, of a pencil's sketch or an hour's contemplation. 

The bridge erected at that time is still standing, measures 
about three hundred and fifty feet in length, and contains three 
arches. North of it, not more than fifty yards, is the breast 
of Mortonville Dam, a dam more widely and unfavorably known 
than any other body of water in Chester County. 

What possibilities Mortonville Dam offers to a writer like 

[ 86 




'Two Little Friends of Mink Hollow." Paiix' '^7. 



Conan Doyle. How quiet and peaceful it looks a short distance 
above the breast, and yet what secrets lie beneath its calm ex- 
terior ; what tales of ruthless deeds come bubbling up at times ; 
but eyes like Doyle's are needed to perceive them, minds like his 
are needed to translate them. Here are facts, scenery and names, 
euphonious and alluring names. What more interesting title could 
one ask for than the Mortonville Mystery. Besides being al- 
literative, Mortonville is as good as Gondreville, and Gondreville 
was good enough for Gaboriau. 

At Mortonville one enters the Township of Newlin and 
leaves East Fallowfield behind. Historically, Newlin is one of 
the most interesting of all townships, but to-day I rise from the 
contemplation of Mortonville's horrors, strongly impelled to re- 
trace my steps to Modena just to look again in passing on the 
innocent faces of two little friends of Mink Hollow. 




87 ] 




LAUREL. 



" Look to your looms again ; 
Faster and faster 
Fly the great shuttles 

Prepared by the Master." 

Lathbury. 

N this day of post-cards, you will not find many 
collections that do not contain one of " Roaring 
Rocks, Buck Run." The mouth of Buck Run is 
just below the covered bridge near Mortonville, 
" -m.^-^ /^ 3,nd can be easily seen from the public road, on 
' "~ the eastei'n side of the Brandvwine. 

^ :, About a mile up the run, near the southern 

vlj, ^ ^ line of East Fallowfield Township, Doe Run unites 
" I with Buck Run, losing its identity and name. In- 
dividually, these streams contribute much to the picturesqueness 
of the townships through which they flow, and have for years 
turned the wheels of six or seven paper mills. 

Roaring Rocks is a delightful spot, but I must let it speak 
for itself. My allegiance to the Brandy^vine compels me to 
leave it with only a word of introduction. 

Buck Run comes in from the west. A little farther down, on 
the east, is Hemlock Road. The highway on either side is lined 
with hemlocks, which extend down a precipitous bank to the 
water's edge, some thirty feet below. In the winter time, the 
green tops of the hemlocks give a touch of color to the white 

[ 88 




'• The Pleasing Gloom of Hemlock Road." Pane 89. 



landscape; in summer, when the moon is full, their sombre 
shadows on the road and in the water, inspire just that kind of 
tender melancholy that makes lovers sigh and dream and fear. 

I know of nothing like it along the stream except "The 
Spruces," near Bernardtown, and unfortunately, at that point 
the hemlocks have suffered greatly, almost irremediably, from 
the axe of the Hun. 

Emerging from the pleasing gloom of Hemlock Road, a 
walk of a few minutes brings you within sight of Laurel Sta- 
tion, a little wooden eight by ten, without an operator, without 
a time table, in short, without any conveniences ; where each 
passenger is expected to look for the engine as it rounds the 
curve and flag it with his handkerchief. 




If your waiting period is a long one, or the train is behind 
time, you may either amuse yourself with the foot-bridge to the 
right, that crosses the Brandywine, or climb the hill to the left 
and solemnize your thoughts by entering a country graveyard 
on the hillside. 

89] 




Two hemlocks stand at the entrance, two guardians who 
have faithfully watched for years the graves on which their 

shadows rest. Many of these 
graves have had no other custo- 
dian. Marked only by common 
stones, gray and moss-grown, 
nameless and dateless, with no 
grassy mound beside them, there 
is naught that reveals love's 
fond remembrance. 

In the lower part of the grave- 
yard, however,' is an old one, 
possibly the oldest, containing 
both name and date,— "Jane 
daughter of Joseph & Mary Bently, February 5, 1760." 

A century and a half ! How long it seems, and yet that 
walnut tree at the northeastern corner saw that childish form 
interred, heard " the ashes to ashes, dust to dust," but it is the 
only living witness. Her father, her mother, her story, are un- 
known to me, unknown to most who wan- 
der here, perhaps unknown to all. Be- 
neath these hemlocks, by the side of this 
little grave, one of Hervey's "Medita- 
tions" strikes me with unusual force — 
"We are tenants at will." What I am 
writing will soon be written, my notice 
to quit will soon be served and I shall ||ia 



leave the stream I love, forever. '^^ 

Last Sunday was Easter, and the f^:.'. 



In Memory of" 
jANElDaughte 
Jofeph i Mary Berlly 
^ho «as bora, 
Mai-ch !$'" Sis?. . 
and deparled, ihis Life 
February -5'^ J 7G0 

. Alfo of 
CALEB. Ihc.r Son 



yir 



-V'k^ 






ringing bells, the joyous ode of St. John 

Damascene and other majestic melodies of the Latin Church are 

still sounding in my ears — 

"He is risen." 

[ 9° 



Pleasant is the meadow that lies south of Laurel, broad and 
level and rich and green, but as I walk over it to-day, I find my 
eyes turning toward the two hemlocks on the hill, and hear the 
words of Manning echoing in my heart : "We must suffer un- 
der the load of our imperfect nature, until God shall resolve our 
sullied manhood into its original dust and gather it up once 
more in a restored purity. The hope of the resurrection is the 
stay of our souls when they are wearied and baffled in striving 
against the disobedience of our passive nature. At that day we 
shall be delivered from the self which we abhor and be all pure 
as the angels of God. healing and kindly death, which shall 
refine our mortal flesh to a spiritual body and make our lower 
nature chime with the eternal will in faultless harmony." 

At a May Meeting of Hepzibah Baptist Church, Joshua 
Broomall, the oldest resident of the neighborhood, informed me 
that a meeting-house of that denomination was once located 
alongside of the hillside cemetery near Laurel, and that some of 
its foundation stones could still be seen. From a deed dated 
February 1, 1773, I find one Jeffrey Bentley " Out of Love and 
Esteem which he hath unto the said People called Anabaptists 
and such as do practise the Baptism of Dipping and Professing 
the Doctrine of Personal Election and final Perseverance, ob- 
serving the first Day of the Week for the Sabeth," conveying to 
John Garrett, of Christiana Hundred, James Shields, of New- 
linton, and Thomas Davis, of Sadsbury, an acre and a half of 
land, " in trust, to the use and Benefit of such of the said People 
called Anabaptists . . . which now are or which hereafter 
shall be and continue in unity and Religious Fellowship and Re- 
main Members of the said Religious Society and not by the 
Rules of their dissopline censured, disowned and excluded from 
their Religious Communion." 

So far as I have been able to learn, Bentley was well versed 
in the doctrines of his denomination and exemplified them in 

91 ] 



'ty 



his life. His aflFection for his church continued until his death. 

By his will he directed " 20 . 

shillings yearly and every 

year to be paid to Rev. Mr. 

Griffith or any other Minister that may supply the Meeting 

House by Brandiwine in the Township of Newlin." 

Jane Bently was the infant granddaughter of Jeffrey. 




EAST FALLOWFIELD 
TWP 




1797- Lavehtv'S Forge. O. R. P. Vol. 19, p. 217. 

" Whereas your Petitioners have been at a great expense in erecting a 

Double Forge known by the name of Laurel Forge." 

Samuel Laverty, 

Wm. Laverty, 

Jesse Laverty. 
1793. O. R. P. Vol. 18, p. 17. 



[ 92 




JuH.N KUSSKLL IIaVKH. V'.VJ^v '•••". 



JOHN RUSSELL HAYES. 



STAR GAZERS' STONE. 



" But sweeter far in this old garden close 
To loiter 'mid the lovely, old time flowers, 
To breathe the scent of lavender and rose, 
And with old poets pass the peaceful hours. 
Old gardens and old poets — happy he 
Whose quiet summer days are spent in such 
sweet company. 

Hayes — The Old- Fashioned Garden. 

HE atmosphere of the Chester County 
Bar is not conducive to poetical develop- 
ment. Usually a few years of practise 
suffice to dry up the fountains of emo- 
tion, and formal processes clog the wings 
of the most vivid imagination, if indeed 
they do not denude them of every 
feather. Hayes acted wisely in leaving it early. The " small 
office where the uncautious guest goes blindfold in," was not to 
his liking, he longed for the pleasant country-side — for fields of 
crimson clover, wooded slopes and grassy hills and 

" peaceful silver rivers flowing on from mill to mill." 

He sought the objects of his love in old Newlin, and found 
them. 

He never would have found them had he remained at the 
Bar. What black-letter lawyer ever heard the ring-dove's brood- 

93] 




ing plaint, or the tilting laughter of the happy bobolink, or the 
blue bird's gush of cadenced melody ! 

What commercial practitioner ever paused to notice the pale 
narcissus or the purple Canterbury-bell. Hayes hears them, 
sees them, knows them all, and paints them for us in agreeable 
verses. 

A singer of flowers and birds is Hayes. A lover of Fairie 
Land, an appreciative reader of Spenser, fond, too, of the pret- 
tinesses of Herrick. His light and airy fancy has peopled the 
mossy glades of Embreeville with fairy creations. To-day, as 
the shadows fall, I hear their music. 

" For behind the soft sweet fern 

Where the fire-fly lanterns burn, 
Is the band of players hid ; 

There the green-robed i\atydid 
Tweedles on his violin 

Elfin music high and thin." 

Deeper in the wood, perchance, were my eyes but free from 
legal dust, I might see his Fairy Fleet. 

" 1 sat beside a forest grove, 

And there I chanced to see 
Come sweeping o'er the tiny tide 
A fairy argosy. 

" The ships were shells of hazel-nuts 
That grow in green wood dales ; 
Rose-petals on pine-needle masts 
Did serve them for their sails. 

"The tiny navy moved in state 
Before a zephyr light. 
And as it swept along, 1 trow 
It was a winsome sight ! 

" But when the little admiral 

Did through his glass spy me, 
He turned and with his tiny fleet 
Fled far o'er that small sea ! " 

[ 94 



To the Brandywine, Hayes sings a song of heartfelt grati- 
tude— 

" Dear Stream of Beauty, flowing gently down 
Among the windings of my native liills, 
Gathering from all thy tributary brooks 
A richer force, and bearing from far heights 
Eternal tidings to the hoary sea :— 
Thee would 1 celebrate." 

And well he may, for in his infancy it sang his lullaby, in 
boyhood's hours he rambled on its banks, and when the golden 
years of youth succeeded, its pastoral solitude and hundred hills 
spoke kindly to him 

"With messages from nature's inner heart." 

Among its sunny meadows he tells us he first breathed the 
joyousness that delights 

" In all the tranquil loveliness and charm 

Of field and dell, of tree and stream and sky, 
Blue misty hill and dreamy woodland soft." 

He is one of thankful multitudes who love its placid beauty, 
its fords, its water-falls, its windings ; love 

"Each quiet little gulf and gleaming bay." 

For him, a loveliness clings round each scene along its 
course, 

" The upland fields of fertile Honeybrook, 
The willowed banks of pastoral Fallowfield, 
The silent wooded hills of dear Newlin, 
Home of arbutus and primeval pines, 
From those high crystal springs that gave thee birth, 
To thy last reach in Delaware's far fields." 

Leaving the Hayes Homestead with all its delightful asso- 
ciations, and smothering all poetical sentiments with the reflec- 
tions that I came hither as a local historian, I turn off the 
Embreeville highway at Henry K. Harlan's house and take a 
narrow road leading northward. 

95 ] 



In a field on Henry K. Harlan's farm, about two hundred and 
fifty yards north of his house, is a quartzose stone scarcely two feet 
above ground. When I first saw it some children were jumping 
over it, but since the Historical Society of Chester County has 
given it appropriate surroundings and constructed an approach 
to it, the stone has acquired a little more height and dignity and 
delivers its message with greater pride. 

" I am no common flint ; astronomical hands christened me 
more than a century, ago, Indian Hannah looked at me many a 
time with curious eyes, and neighboring men and women used 
frequently to gather here, and turn their wandering gaze star- 
ward. When v/as I planted here ? In 1764, by two great English 
mathematicians, Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon. I mark 
the site of very important astronomical observations, and am 
thirty-one miles west of what was once the southernmost point 
of the city of Philadelphia, and from me a due south line of 
fifteen miles was run to determine the latitude of the boundary 
line between the provinces of Pennsylvania and Delaware." 

I have never heard it say that it is half a mile west of the 
Chester County Almshouse, but perhaps, in omitting this fact, 
it only follows the advertising precedents of the neighborhood. 

In the early days of the provinces border disputes between 
settlers claiming under the Penns and those claiming under 
Lord Baltimore, were frequent. In 1732, an agreement was en- 
tered into by the respective Proprietaries for running the line 
fifteen English statute miles south of the latitude of the 
southernmost part of the city of Philadelphia. This agreement, 
however, did not end the dispute, for the Maryland party threw 
all manner of obstacles in the way of having the line actually laid 
upon the ground, forcing the Penns to resort to the English High 
Court of Chancery. In 1750, when Lord Chancellor Hardwicke 
entered a decree of specific performance of the agreement di- 
recting the marking of the line in accordance with its manifest 

[ 96 




Surrounded with Stone." "Originally. 

" I .AM NO Common Flint." Page 96. 



meaning, he referred to the importance of the case as estabHsh- 
ing the boundaries of two great Provincial Governments and 
three counties, and observed it vs^as " worthy the judicature of a 
Roman Senate, rather than of a single judge, and my consolation 
is, that if I should err in my judgment, thei-e is a judicature 
equal in dignity to a Roman Senate, that will correct it." 

After thirteen more years of quibbles and technicalities, the 
proprietaries of the two provinces finally agreed to employ Ma- 
son and Dixon to run the disputed line. In the latter part of 
1763, they began their labors in Philadelphia. They determined 
the exact latitude of the southernmost point of the city, (then 
Cedar Street, now South Street, ) and found it to be 39 degrees, 
56 minutes, 29.1 seconds north. In January, 1764, they moved 
westward to John Harland's farm, and setting up their instru- 
ments in his garden, proceeded to determine the exact latitude 
of this point. Finding they were about 357 yards south of the 
latitude of the starting point, they planted the stone that dis- 
tance north of their observatory in the garden. Carroll Hayes, 
Esq., who has given the subject no little attention, says, "a 
measurement of 357 yards south from the stone brings us south 
of the Harland house and the Embreeville and the West Ches- 
ter road. It seems probable, therefore, that the garden at that 
time was not north of the house, as now, but was on the sunny 
slope running south from the road towards the Brandywine. 
This would provide a much pleasanter point for observations 
during the wintry months of January and February, than north 
of the house." 

The romantic name of Star Gazers' Stone was no doubt given 
it by the neighbors and onlookers, who probably watched with 
great curiosity and awe these mysterious observations of the 
stars. Mason and Dixon encamped here for two and a half 
months from January 14 to April 2, 1764 ; after which they com- 
menced measuring due southward fifteen miles in order to de- 

97 ] 



termine the latitude of the disputed boundary lines between the 
two provinces. 

They had come thus far westward to avoid the many streams 
flowing into the Delaware River, but, as Hayes observes, they 
must have been unpleasantly surprised, for in the very first mile 
of their southward measurement, they had to cross the Brandy- 
wine Creek three times, first, just below the Harlan house, then 
near the present Wilmington and Northern Railroad bridge, and 
a third time near the present Embreeville carriage bridge. 

In order to do their surveying and measuring in the most 
accurate manner possible. Mason and Dixon had their axe-men 
cut a swath or " visto," eight or nine yards wide, through the 
forest ahead of them, " in general seen about two miles, beauti- 
fully terminating to the eye in a point," as they say in their re- 
port to the Royal Society. These vistas, and also those after- 
wards opened in continuing their lines, were declared to be " the 
straightest and most regular, as well as extensive vistas that 
perhaps ever were made." 

But the record of these various movements and observa- 
tions is more interesting as told by Mason and Dixon themselves. 

The following are extracts from this Note Book having 
special reference to the Star Gazers' Stone. The location of the 
stone is usually referred to as being " in the forks of the Bran- 
diwine : " 

" 1764, January 7. Set out from Philadelphia with a quad- 
rant to find ( nearly ) a place in the Forks of Brandiwine having 
the same latitude as the south point of the City of Philadel- 
phia. 

" 8. Fixed our station by the house of Mr. John Harlands 
(being about 31 miles west of the City of Philadelphia). 

" 9. Returned to Philadelphia. 

" 10. Prepared for moving. 

" 11. The observatory taken down and put with the rest of 

[ 9S 



our Instruments into three Waggons, except the Telescope &c of 
the Sector which was carry'd on the Springs ( with our Beds un- 
der it ) of a single horse Chair. 

" 12. Left Philadelphia and reached Chester that night. 

" 13. Arrived at Thos. Worth's Esq. and lodged there that 
night. 

" 14. Arrived at Mr. John Harlands and set up the Sector in 
his Garden ( inclos'd in a Tent ) and in the Evening brought the 
Instrument in to the Plane of the Meridian and took the follow- 
ing observations, — " 

" 15. Cloudy. Turn'd the Instrument facing the East." 
( Then follow more calculations. ) 

" 16. From these obsei-vations finding we were not far from 
the parallel of the southernmost point of the City of Philadel- 
phia, we ordered carpenters to erect the observatory." 

( After giving the observations of eight stars, the mean of 
these is calculated. ) " Mean . . . 10.5 minutes, equalling 
356.8 yards (according to Mr. Norwood's measure) the Sector is 
to the south of the said point of the City of Philadelphia." 

After giving the observations of five stars, the mean is 
calculated as " 10.2 seconds, what we are south of the parallel 
of the southernmost point of Philadelphia ; but the mean of the 
results from eight stars must be preferred to that of five. 

" 17. Employ'd one man cutting a visto in the direction of 
the meridian southwards. 

" 19. Employed 4 men in cutting the visto. 

" 20. Employed 4 men at Do. 

" Apr. 2. Began to measure from our observatory ( at Mr. 
Harlands). Employed 5 men. 

Chains Links Levels 

1 61 

— - 4 These 4 levels 22 ft. each. ^°"p"e'fo^Tse';rf^eY6Tft.°one^ 

2 91 — Enter'd Brandy Wine. 

99 ] 



Chains 


Links Level 


28 


00 — 


9 


00 — 



Enter'd Brandy Wine. 



17 of 'he i6l4 ft. Level which we shall allways use thro the whole. 

9 00 — 
20 
7 00 — I To a stob on the no. side of Brandy Wine 
2 04—1 the 3d time. 

40 To a stob on the so. side of Brandy Wine. 
60 To a Mark in Mr. Wilson's Field," &c. 
The running of this accurately measured north and south 
line, together with the practical continuation of it southward, in 
the Delaware-Maryland boundary line, gave Mason and Dixon 
" a most inviting opportunity for determining the length of a 
degree of latitude, from the measure of near a degree and a 
half." 

This plan was accordingly submitted by Mason and Dixon 
for the consideration of the Council of the Royal Society, which 
authorized them to carry it into execution at the expense of the 
Society. They did this in the latter part of 1766 and the fol- 
lowing years, after the completion of their boundary line work. 
As showing the great degree of accuracy demanded in this 
work, they were directed " to measure the lines carefully over 
again with fir-rods, which they sent to them, together with a 
brass standard, of 5 foot, with which the rods were to be com- 
pared frequently, and the difference noted, and also the height 
of the thermometer at the time ; for the lines had been all 
measured before with a standard chain, which, though sufficient 
for the common purposes of surveying, was by no means to be 
depended upon in so nice an operation as that of measuring a 
degree of latitude." 

The result was that a degree of latitude was found to be 
68.896 English statute miles. " This measure of a degree," says 

[ lOO 



the Astronomer Royal, speaking in 1768, " seems to me to be as 
well stated, and as much to be depended on as any that has been 
made." 

This is the only instance in which a degree of latitude was 
ever actually measured on the earth's surface ; the calculations 
in other cases having been based upon a process of triangula- 
tion. 

Other important observations taken by Mason and Dixon at 
their observatory on the Harlan farm, under the authorization 
of the Royal Society, were for the purpose of determining, by 
means of an astronomical clock, the difference in the force of 
gravity at this point and at the Royal Observatory at Green- 
wich. Observations were also taken here of an eclipse of the 
moon, and of some immersions of Jupiter's first satellite. 

From the foregoing facts it is manifest that the Star Gazer's 
Stone is a monument of more than ordinary historical interest, 
well worthy to be marked and preserved, as is being done, by the 
Historical Society of Chester County : not only did it have to do 
with important astronomical and other scientific observations, but 
also " with the running of a long and bitterly disputed bound- 
ary line between 
two great colonies, 
now two great 
commonwealths, a 
line that later ac- 
quired added and 
fateful signifi- 
cance through be- 
ing the border line 
between slavery 
and freedom." 

A half mile west of the Star Gazer's Stone the walls of the 
Chester County Almshouse rise on a southern slope, and sepa- 

lOI ] 




rated from it by a hundred yards or more, stands the Asylum 
for the Insane. 

Passing along the highway one catches a glimpse of groups 
of aged and harmless lunatics in circles on the grass, enjoy- 
ing the sunlight and air. Hopeless imbeciles ! bedecked with 
ribbons and flowers, how sad the reflections their condition 
awakens, 

" But there's a happy change, a scene to come, 
And they, God help them, shall be soon at home." 

A little further and the road brings you to the entrance of 
the Almshouse, where you frequently see a number of the in- 
mates lounging ; sometimes, sitting on the fences, at other times, 
lying under the maple trees, or shuffling along the roadside ; pale 
veterans with bent forms beaten down by misfortune, with here 
and there a harmless idiot. Care worn faces look at you as you 
pass by, but only for a moment, and with uncertain eyes ; then 
they lose their interest and resume their old expression. A sor- 
rowful lot, some boisterous, many quiet, and a few smiling, but 
alas, with " that vague and uncertain smile that is sadder and 
more heart-breaking than tears." 



[ 102 



INDIAN ROCK-INDIAN HANNAH. 



" I beheld the westward marches 
Of the unknown crowded nations. 
Then a darker, drearier vision, 
Passed before me, vague and cloudlike, 
I beheld our nation scattered." 

Longfellow — Hiawatha. 

" That rocky heap 
Where Indian Hannah used to keep 
Her native state and pride declare. 
As Lenape's unchallenged heir." 

Everhart — The Foxchase. 

HE Brandywine glides through Newlin 
with a certain serpentine gracefulness 
that is only faintly hinted at in any of 
our county atlases. 

As it leaves this township, it raises 
its head a little to survey the channel 
in front of it, and then, diving under 
Northbrook Bridge, straightens itself out on the other side. 

Often have I watched it moving toward me, its quivering 
body glistening like silver, or glorious with the hues of the 
setting sun. To-day, entranced by its beauty, I find myself for- 
getting my mission. I am seeking a rock— an historical rock, 
which by my reckoning should be a few hundred yards west of 
this bridge, and here it is, at the bottom of the left bank, near 
a turn of the stream. One is not impressed with its propor- 
103 ] 




tions, but in the days of the first settlers it was the most im- 
portant rock of the Western Brandywine. 

" Upon this rock 1 love to soar, 
In fancy, back to days of yore; 
When thro' these wild romantic woods. 
And o'er the Brandywine's bright floods, 
The Indian hunter's loud halloo 
Rung out, and glided his canoe : 
Methinks I see the wigwam near, 
Methinks the war-whoop now I hear ; 
And horrid yell of victory. 
While up the distant stream, I see 
The dusky forms of warriors red 
With blood from many a foeman shed ; 
Here on this spot, in ancient days, 
Methinks the council-fire's blaze 
Went up ; while, here, beneath this shade, 
The savage war-dance was displayed ; 
Perhaps upon this rock, at night, 
The Indian lover, by moonlight. 
Once wooed his dusky paramour. 
Before her father's wigwam door I 
But ah I where are they now ?— no more 
The war-whoop rings along this shore ; 
No more along this silver tide, 
The light canoe is seen to glide ; 
No trace of wigwam here is seen, 
Upon these beauteous banks of green ; 
The council-fire has long gone out. 
And hushed is now the war-dance shout ; 
The Indian warrior's feet have fled,— 
They rest with all the mighty dead." 

In 1724, the Free Society of Traders conveyed a tract of 
seventy-one hundred acres of land to Nathaniel Newlin, for 
eight hundred pounds, current money of Pennsylvania. Shortly 
afterwards, Newlin began to dispose of portions of this tract, 
reserving a yearly quit rent of one English shilling for each 
hundred acres. At the end of six months, warrants had been 

[ 104 



/ 



issued by him for nine parcels, some of which were located on 
the Brandywine. 

Immediately there was trouble with the Indians, who al- 
leged that after Penn had purchased all their lands in Chester 
County, he reconveyed to them a mile in width on each side of 
the Brandywine from its mouth, up the West Branch to its head. 
n \.,^/i Unfortunately for the 

Indians, the writing es- 
tablishing this 
claim was lost or 
destroyed. 

In 1706, the 
Commissioners 
of Property pur- 
chased from the 
Indians their 
;:. claim to these 

lands from the mouth of the 
river to this rock. 
When Newlin undertook to con- 
vey land along the Brandywine 
above this rock, the Indians vigorously asserted their owner- 
ship to a strip on each side as far as its source, and stoutly de- 
nied Newlin's rights to sell or interfere with their enjoyment of 
any portion of it. 

At the session of the Provincial Assembly held at Philadel- 
phia in the summer of 1725, Checochinican and other noted In- 
dians attended " the House " in person, and upon being asked to 
state their grievances, declared : 

" When William Penn came to this country he settled a per- 
petual friendship with us and after we sold him our country he 
reconveyed back a certain tract of land upon the Brandywine 
for a mile on each side of the creek, which writing was by the 
105 ] 




burning of a cabin destroyed, but we all remember very well 
the contents thereof. That William Penn promised that we 
should not be molested whilst one Indian lived, grew old and 
blind and died, so another, to the third generation ; and now it 
is not half the age of an old man since and we are molested and 
our lands surveyed out and settled before we can reap our corn 
off, and to our great injury Brandywine Creek is so obstructed 
with dams that the fish can not come up to our habitations. We 
desire you to take notice that we are a poor people and want the 
benefit of the fish for when we are out hunting our children 
with their bows and arrows used to get fish for their sustenance, 
therefore we desire that these dams be removed, that the fish 
may have their natural course. If you hear us not we shall be 
obliged to come again next Spring. We hope we are all friends 
and desire to continue so as long as we draw breath." 

In their address to the Governor the representatives of the 
Province properly ascribed the trouble to a " too wilful resolu- 
tion " on Newlin's part to hold and settle the lands that he had 
purchased, and hoped he would be " more condescending." This 
hope was not realized, and it was only after the Commissioners 
of Property told him plainly that " it was in vain for him to 
pretend to that land, let the disajjpointment he what it 
would, so long as the Indians laid claim to the same 
and would continue upon it," that they accommodated the 
matter with him, and then not very satisfactorily, for in order 
to get a substantial assurance that he would not molest them 
from their claims, it was necessary to dispatch a sergeant at 
arms to wait upon him, after which he appeared before the House 
in person and subscribed the paper, promising that neither he nor 
his heirs would " by any means disturb or molest the Indians in 
their possession or claim." 

About the time that Nathaniel Newlin was entering into his 
own recognizance for good behavior a little Indian girl was just 

[ io6 




Died at the County Hdme in 1802. 



beginning to open her eyes on the wrongs of her people, who 
were moving from the county. 

Of all the chapters on early Chester County History written 
by Joseph J. Lewis, three-quarters of a century ago, none is so in- 
teresting as that which relates to Indian Hannah, " the last of 
the Lenapes " in Chester County, who died at the County Home 
in 1803. " The circumstance of her being for a number of years 
the sole survivor of her people," says he, " seems to entitle her 
to a notice which the merit of her character would not alone 
have procured her. She was one of a family that adopted the 
English manner of naming, called themselves Freemen, and in- 
habited for a number of years one of a small cluster of wig- 
wams in Marlborough Township. Her principal abode after she 
set up for herself was a wigwam upon the Brandywine on the 
land of Humphrey Marshall, or rather on her own land. During 
the summer she travelled much through different parts of the 
county and distributed her baskets. These were fabricated 
chiefly after the manner of those now in use by our own school- 
boys, and painted with various colors— red, orange, green and 
purple. The colors with which she variegated her work were 
derived chiefly from stones found by borders of the brooks, and 
it is a little remarkable that although her red and yellow were 
known by some of the whites, none were able to discover her 
fine green and beautiful purple. 

" But making baskets was not her only occupation. She, 
forsooth, was a doctress also, and practised the healing art to no 
inconsiderable extent. So great was her fame in this line that 
J. Parker, of Kennett, an excellent and venerable old man, was 
induced to visit her wigwam to procure her prescriptions for his 
children, who were ill. She furnished him with a few herbs and 
pounded roots — her only medicines — with directions for their use, 
and charged him five shillings for her receipt, which sufficiently 
demonstrated that she had, at least, learned the value of money. 
107 ] 



" In her trading excursions," said one who knew her, " she 
was always attended by a dog, and if he was ahead when she 
approached a house, she would say, ' Cotch-aming,' or ' Cotch-a- 
mingo,' whereupon the dog would drop his tail, fall back, and 
walk beside her. She was also attended by her pigs, which 
would follow her wherever she went and stay at a house as long 
as their owner. Whether she took them along as a cheap way 
of feeding, or having no one at home to feed them, I cannot say." 

When asked about traditions relative to her ancestors coming 
or settling here, she would tell how ages ago her people lived on 
the other side of a great water, how one day they observed a 
woodpecker coming from over the ocean with an acorn in its 
bill, and concluded there must be a woody country on this side. 
She would tell, too, how her people caught great quantities of 
fish in the Brandy wine— a hundred shad at a haul— with drag- 
nets made of grape-vines. 

" Considerably advanced in life she left her solitary wig- 
wam," says Lewis, " and was supported for a number of years 
by several of her friends in their own houses, but some of them 
dying, and she becoming childish, mischievous and troublesome, 
she was at length, at the age of ninety, removed to the Poor 
House, where, although indignant at being obliged to live in 
such a receptacle of wretchedness, she was shown every atten- 
tion that the nature of her wants demanded and the kind- 
ness of the steward could suggest. Here she died a few years 
afterwards, and was buried by the steward in the paupers' bury- 
ing grounds." 

" Though a long time domesticated with the whites, Hannah 
retained her Indian character, with her copper complexion to the 
last. She had a proud and lofty spirit, hated the blacks, and 
deigned not to associate even with the lower of the whites. 
Without a companion of her race, without kindred, surrounded 
only by strangers, she felt her situation desolate, often spoke 

[ io8 



emphatically of the wrongs and misfortunes of her people, upon 
whom alone her affections dwelt, and seemed to view all around 
her with an eye of suspicion. Hence her countenance was 
strongly indicative of distrust, which, joined with an air of pride 
that never left her, rendered the expression of her face strong 
and remarkable. In her conduct she was perfectly moral, and 
by no means given to the vice of drunkenness, to which so many 
of her nation were subject." 

A bow shot or two up the stream from Indian Rock, to 
the north of the public road, marked by a group of oaks, is an 
Indian Burying-ground. 

Curiosity stuck 
its spade into this 
ground some years 
ago, and in one 
place, after dig- 
ging down about 
four feet and a- 
half, found an In- 
dian skeleton al- 
most complete. It 
lay with the head 

toward the East, facing North, the figure being slightly bent. 
On one of the fingers was a copper ring ; a few shreds of coarse 
cloth were near the foot, and close beside it were nineteen round, 
opaque white beads, one painted Venetian bead, and a copper 
coin. 

Other excavations, ostensibly scientific, uncovered portions 
of other skeletons with their heads to the East ; skeletons of 
Delawares, who, having seen the "darker vision" of Hiawatha, 
lay down to rest beside their beloved stream. 

Why disturb them ? Surely the Indians of Newlin suffered 
enough when living to be let alone when dead. 

109 ] 




-.'1*''^' 



I never look at one of these unearthed relics without feel- 
ing to the full the sentiments of Bryant on the Disinterred 
Warrior : 

" Gather him to his grave again, 

And solemnly and softly lay, 
Beneath the verdure of the plain, 

The warrior's scattered bones away. 
Pay the deep reverence, taught of old. 

The homage of man's heart to death ; 
Nor dare to trifle with the mould 

One hallowed by the Almighty's breath. 



" A noble race ! but they are gone. 

With their old forests wide and deep. 
And we have built our homes upon 

Fields where their generations sleep. 
Their fountains slake our thirst at noon, 

Upon their fields our harvest waves, 
Our lovers woo beneath their moon — 

Ah, let us spare, at least, their graves." 



[ no 



FROM NORTHBROOK TO CHADS'S FORD. 



" How changed since here the Indian trod. 
And was it strange that he should stand, 
Battling for this all-lovely land? 
That he should bathe his hands in gore, 
The white man's blood, upon this shore? 
Rise, soldiers, from your gory graves ! 
Rise, Revolutionary braves ! 
And say for what ye fought and fell, 
When England loosed her hounds of hell." 

Dr. John Lofland— The Banks of /he Brandywine. 

HE bridge at Northbrook is destitute of 
beauty and but for its historical as- 
sociations, would be absolutely unin- 
teresting. 

In 1795, some petitioners represented 
to the Court : " It is now about twenty- 
eight years since a bridge suitable for 
the passing of carriages, was erected at the expense of a few 
neighboring inhabitants, over the West Branch of Brandywine 
Creek near to Humphrey Marshall's Mill, that the bridge con- 
tinued in public use for several years, and especially during the 
time the American Army lay at Valley Forge, when, by their 
waggons passing from the Head of Elk, &c., with corn, it was 
considerably used and much injured, so that after a time it be- 
came impassable for carriages, but remained as a foot bridge 
III ] 




till about four years since, when it was thoroughly repaired at 
the considerable expense of a few persons aided by a trifling 
subscription." 

Humphrey Marshall's Mill has long been a wreck, but the 
remains of it are yet visible on the southern side of the stream. 
Humphrey himself was a farmer and stone mason, with a strong 
bent toward botany and astronomy. His Botanic Garden at 
Marshallton, begun in 1773, contained a rich collection of forest 
and ornamental trees, and his work, entitled Arbustum Ameri- 
canum, was the first truly indigenous botanical essay prepared 
and published in the Western Hemisphere. 

The village of Mar- 
shallton lies in West fjB^ 
Bradford on a ridge 
in the " fforks of Bran- 
diwine." In 1719, the 
Friends who had set- 
tled here requested 
leave to hold a meet- 
ing for worship. In 
1722, Chester Quarter- 
ly Meeting granted it. Humphrey marshalls house. 
The site was purchased from Edward Clayton in 1729, after 
which a log house was moved up from Abraham Marshall's 
farm. About 1765, the present Meeting-house was built. 

Eli K. Price, who was born within view of Brandywine bat- 
tle-ground, has left this picture of the early Friends : 

" I see them, in my mind, back to the beginning of this 
( 19th ) century. Then the oldest men were in the costume Ben- 
jamin West painted them in the likenesses of his parents and 
others, and in his picture of the treaty with the Indians under 
the elm at Shackamaxon, and as William Penn stands in front 
of the Pennsylvania Hospital, but as taller men, for William 

[ H2 




Penn evidently derived his figure to a considerable extent from 
his Dutch mother. The dress was a body coat of ample mate- 
rial, with standing collar, cut single-breasted, with one row of 
buttons covered with the same cloth, one row of button-holes, 
the front of the coat being slightly curved, and the whole fall- 
ing to the knees ; with waistcoat in proportion, with pockets 
parting below where the buttoning ceased, and so deep as partly 
to cover the lap, the openings covered by a flap, all of drab 
color ; then came the small clothes, buckled at the knees ; and 
often they wore buckled shoes, but on going out on horseback 
the high fair-top boots were essential. The person was covered 
with a genuine broadbrim, not rolled up nor standing out hori- 
zontally, but inclined upward on three sides at an angle of forty- 
five degrees, and in a few instances in the city looped up higher. 
But by the end of the first quarter of this century signs of the 
leveling tendency of republicanism had set in ; the colors of the 
cloth became darker, and the dignity of the small clothes and 
fair-top boots were sunk in the trousers. And what a let-down 
was that ! But the diminuant process has continued. The brim 

is now narrower, 
the crown of the 
hat higher; the 
coat is cut from a 
smaller pattern, is 
^^ fitted closer to the 
body, is more trim, 
but looks not so 
venerable." 

As I leave the 

cool shadows of the 

oaks that surround 

the Meeting-house, I recall the form of an aged Friend who 

lived in this community, to whom God had given more than 

113] 




FmENDS' Meetinq-mouse. 



the usual allowance of wit. When some Presbyterians once 
talked about tearing down an old hall, and building a chapel 
for their denomination at Marshallton, he shook his head to a 
suggestion for a contribution and remarked to their spokes- 
man, " I can't give thee anything towards erecting the new one 
—my principles forbid that— but I will gladly contribute some- 
thing towards tearing the old one down." 

About a mile and a half south of Marshailton and less than 
half that distance down the stream from Humphrey Marshall's 
dismantled Mill you 

find yourself at Trim- ^ \f r/J^ ^ \- . , ' • ■ "A 

ble's Ford. It was 
here that a division 
of the British Army 
under Lord Corwal- 
lis, crossed the West- 
ern Brandywine on 
the morning of Sep- 
tember 11th, 1777. 
From this ford to 

Jefferis's Ford, on the Eastern Brandywine, is two miles. East 
of the stream lies West Bradford Township, west of it, Pocop- 
son— the latter township being formed in 1849 from parts of 
Pennsbury, East Marlborough, Newlin and West Bradford. West 
Bradford was the western division of the old township of Brad- 
ford, beginning at the southeast corner of the Society Tract and 
by the line of the same to its northern corner. 

At Wawasset, a mile or so further south, the Brandywine is 
spanned by the longest covered bridge in Chester County. On 
a dark night I have known drivers to listen carefully for a min- 
ute or so, and then send their horses through the bridge at the 
same pace that Tarn O'Shanter sent his gray mare, and for much 
the same reason. 

[ "4 




A mile or so from this bridge the Western Brandywine 
meets its Eastern sister, and together they journey southward. 
Some days they seem to meet with much reluctance, each ap- 
pearing to be anxious to continue her course alone ; at other 
times I have seen them rush into each other's arms so impetu- 
ously as to completely cover the little island at their confluence. 
Onward they go, loosening boats from their moorings, and sweep- 
ing every tent from their banks, laughing uproariously as the oc- 
cupants go scampering toward the roads dragging their clothes 
behind them ; mad with joy, and rejoicing in their strength, they 
spread their waters over the meadows and move tumultuously 
toward Lenape, scattering the crowds, overturning the pa- 
vilions, bursting all barriers and carrying everything before 
them. Seldom, however, does this occur ; for the most part they 
flow quietly through the meadows of Bradford and seemingly 
enjoy the presence of the throng that gathers in the Park. And 
a mii'thful throng it is — lovers in their light canoes, speeding up 
the stream to avoid too curious eyes, school children in heavy 
boats, advancing a few feet and receding as much, fortunate 
when they escape the dam breast — little steam launches, loaded 
to the water's edge — fishermen sitting on roots of trees, ready 
to swear as each boat passes. Such is Lenape in day time. At 
night — but no ! Let us pass on. 

Wawasset, Lenape and Pocopson, are Indian names, two of 
which are applied to railroad stations and one to a township, 
all of them having more or less of what Hawthorne calls " the 
oil-and-honey flow which the aborigines were so often happy in 
communicating to their local appellations." 

Prior to the erection of the bridge at Lenape, the place was 
known as Wistar's or Shunk's Ford. 

At the Battle of Brandywine some light troops belonging to 
the division which went with Howe and Cornwallis to attack 
Washington's right flank, passed by this ford. The farm was 

"5 ] 



then owned by John Brinton, " an eccentric, daring little man 
and a furious Whig, somewhat intemperate in his habits, and in 
the latter years of his life so extravagant in his deportment 
when excited by liquor, that he was commonly called ' Crazy 
Johnny.' When the British companies approached his house he 
greeted them with a hearty 'Hurrah for George Washing- 
ton I ' They immediately arrested him and treated him very 
roughly. They threatened to kill him instantly, if he did not 
hurrah for King George. They prevailed after some time to 
make him say, ' Hurrah for King George ! ' but he immediately 
added — ' Washington.' Finding him utterly unmanageable, they 
plundei'ed his house and took him with them as a prisoner to 
Philadelphia. As long as he lived he always affected the cos- 
tume of that day, especially the old Revolutionary cocked hat ! " 
From Lenape to Painter's Bridge is a mile of beautiful 
meadow land, the greater portion of which is owned by Charles 
E. Mather. The road that runs along the east side of the 
Brandywine from Lenape to Painter's Bridge is shaded with 
trees, and here and there presents some rocky scenery that 
holds the eye and awakens sentiment. On these bottom lands 
the grass in places is as close and fine as plush. To the right 
of the stream, close to the bank, stands a row of great trees, 
stolid and dignified, protected from the onslaughts of the water 
by a substantial stone wall, and extending almost to the lower 
end of the meadow where a fence of swinging gates accommo- 
dates itself to the rising and falling of the stream, whenever 
it chooses to enlarge its boundaries. This end of the meadow is 
occasionally referred to as "Dungeon Bottom," but for what 
reason I am unable to say. Bottom land it is, and is so called 
in various proceedings, but why "Dungeon?" Even an in- 
quiry from that " hand-and-glove associate of all forgotten men 
and things— the Oldest Inhabitant," has failed in giving me any 
solution. 

[ ri6 



Tradition says that it was at one time densely wooded and a 
favorite haunt of bears. 

Painter's Bridge is crossed by the Street Road. Upon the 
construction of this bridge some changes were made in the 
course of the road. The road was a continuation of Marlbor- 
ough Street in Kennett Township, its history being as follows : 

In 1768, a number of petitioners were " apprehensive that 
it might be Conducive to the General Advantage of the Pub- 
lick if the Road that is now Called Marlborough Street was 
Extended nearly Eastward upon as Straight a course as the 
Ground would admit of into the road that leads ... to Phila- 
delphia. 

" It might lead through that part of the County where pro- 
posed with very little Detriment to Individuals as it might Proba- 
bly Be Laid along Lines Between Plantations as also Between 
Townships that is at Present Badly accommodated with roads to 
the metropolis even to Carry the Produce of their Labour to 
market." 

In 1775, Marlborough Street was connected with the Edge- 
mont Road. 

Less than a quarter of a mile south of Painter's Bridge, Po- 
copson Run flows into the Brandywine from the west, and on the 
same side, a turn or two below, a group of rocks marks a well 
known fishing place for bass. On the left of the stream a grove 
of trees indicates where Birmingham Park once entertained 
great crowds. Pennsbury Township lies on the west of the 
Brandywine, Birmingham on the east. William Brinton, one of 
the earliest settlers in this section of Chester County, came from 
the neighborhood of Birmingham in England, and as Futhey 
observes, selected for his wilderness home the name that would 
recall to his memory the early associations of his life. Upon 
the division of the County in 1789, the greater part of the 
original township fell into Delaware County. Until 1856, the 

117 ] 



Street Road was the northern boundary of the township in Ches- 
ter County. In that year it was enlarged by the addition to it 
of the southern end of East Bradford Township. 

"The name of the township was originally pronounced 
Brummagem, and it is so given on Holmes's map of the early set- 
tlements of Pennsylvania. The name is derived from Brumwy- 
cheham, the ancient name of Birmingham, and was used in com- 
mon with Birmingham, which signifies the home of the descend- 
ants of Beorm, a Saxon chief." How painful it must be for its 
citizens to reflect upon the concluding words of Futhey : " Bir- 
mingham in England was formerly the great emporium for 
plated ware and imitation jewelry, and hence the word Brumma- 
gem came to signify anything trashy or common." 

Standing at Brinton's Bridge, noting the changes in the 
roads approaching it, I dropped a stone into the water below to 
sound its depth. Shades of Pluto ! what a noise ensued and 
what a smell of sulphur arose to my nostrils. It seems that a 
fellow beneath the bridge was fishing, and the stone in descend- 
ing happened to strike his cork. How unreasonable some 
creatures are ! Trepan their innocent heads and, as Stevenson 
says, you will find " no more than so much coiled fishing line 
below their skulls." 



[ ii8 



CHADS'S FERRY. 




"Nimm nur Fahrmann, nimm die Miethe, 
Die ich gerne dreifach biete ! 
Zween die mit mir liberfuhren, 
Waren geistige Naturen." 

Uliland—Auf der Ueberfahrt. 

PENCE a sheep, half as much more for 
a hog, three pence for every single per- 
son on foot, a two-pence a piece for 
two." 

Such were the rates of ferriage es- 
tablished for Chads's Ferry by the 
Court of Quarter Sessions, at its August 
Term, in 1737. 

John Chads had agreed to provide a good boat for the ac- 
commodation of travelers on the road from Philadelphia to Not- 
tingham, with sufficient hands to attend the same as should 
" from time to time be needf ull for the Carriage of all persons, 
Cattle, Horses and Goods which on the road aforesaid are to be 
carried over the said Creek." 

His appeal for fixed rates was based on personal experience : 
" For as much as your Petitioner has since he erected the said 
Boat carried Sundry Travellers & others over the said Creek for 
want of a settled Table of fees has been obliged to take such 
sums for his fare as they were pleased to bestow upon him which 
many Times fell short of a reasonable fferiage." 

A century later, the Bar of Chester County emulated Chads's 
example by expressing their preference for a certain fee bill 
over the ancient but doubtful honorarium. As a member of 
119 ] 



that body let me affectionately offer a glass of Brandywine 
water to the shade of John Chads, while I present to my read- 
ers a copy of his original petition : 



*/?-»^3!l^»'«*<^ 



^/- 



*^*<^'2;^^ ^^/^^^i^^^f <^*K_^ 











The first boat or flat built under his agreement with the 
county, for "Ye Carrying of Carts, Carriages and Travellers 
over Brandywine Creek on ye Great Road in Birmingham " was 
not elaborate. There was no carved figure at its bow, no siren 
whistle, no gilded stern. Its timber cost three pounds eleven 
shillings and six pence; its construction and "other conve- 

[ I20 



niences" ten pounds more. Twenty-nine pounds eleven shill- 
ings and ten pence was the total amount expended by Chads, 
which included a trip to Philadelphia, with " incidental " ex- 
penses. 





^ ^ ^ ^ |v fl ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^.^ 








121 ] 



This sum he borrowed from the county's funds, and started 
in to conduct the business of publican and ferryman. For five 
years he maintained the ferry, his boat crossing the river in sun- 
shine and rain, swept by Spring's flood and buffeted by Win- 
ter's ice ; for five years his hostelry opened its doors to way- 
farers and then, suddenly ( for some reason that does not ap- 
pear, the early license papers having been abstracted), the 
Court refused to continue his license, whereupon he asked to 
be relieved from the care and management of the ferryboat, 
and to be discharged from the moneys borrowed by him for the 
building of the ferry : " For as much as it can be made appear 
that the Profit of the fferiage will not without some considera- 
tion be sufficient to support and maintain the necessary repairs 
thereof and the Honorable the Justices have thought proper to 
Debar your Petitioner from keeping a house of Entertainment." 

The Court, however, refused to grant any of his prayers, 
and Chads's Ferry continued open. A few years before, the 
county had taken measures to erect wharves and causeways and 
suitable landing-places, for in times of freshet " peoples landing 
had been very difficult." 

Two years later the Court renewed Chads's license and once 
again he essayed a double role, which he steadily continued 
until 1760, when his boat having outlived its usefulness and be- 
come water-soaked, we find him sending a bill to the Com- 
missioners : 

In addition to this bill he presented another for five weeks diet 
for the boat builder, at six shillings a week. 

Twelve years later the second boat, in its turn, was ready 
for the ffames, and the Commissioners again considered the 
question of rebuilding " the flat " for carrying passengers over 

[ 122 



the Brandywine, and agreed " that it should be done with all 
convenient speed." John Webster and Thomas Taylor were ap- 
pointed to procure the same as soon as possible, at the most 
reasonable terms, but what they did, or when, or where, I find 
no records to show. 

Futhey says that the last mention of the ferry is in the 
Commissioners' minutes of 1772. In this, however, he is mis- 
taken, for in 1795, the following agreement was entered into 
between Chester County and Delaware County : 




123 ] 



Such niggardliness deserves reprobation. However, the boat 
was only needed until a bridge was built — after which the ferry- 
man's occupation was gone. 

On January 31, 1803, a jury recommended "that a bridge 
should be erected over Brandywine Creek at Chadd's Ford, and 
that the place most convenient and least expensive was about 
thirteen perches below the said ford." 

In May of the same year a road was laid out, beginning " at 
a public road near the intended bridge near Chadds ford 
about fifteen perches south . . . and from thence into a road 
called Starve Gut Road." 

Any recommendation by Chester County, at that time, 
should have been cheerfully acquiesced in by her minor sister 
Delaware, particularly when the deplorable condition of the 
former's territory was apparent from the names that were given 
to her roads, but not until 1828 did she become responsive, not 
until 1828 did the bridge go up. 

Sitting by this stream, contemplating odd bits of history, it 
is remarkable how one's emotions deepen as night comes on, and 
sometimes night comes on most unexpectedly. One afternoon, 
while ruminating here, anticipating the beauty of a sunset among 
clouds, the sun seemed all at a swoop to drop behind the hills of 
Pennsbury. Instantly the woodlands lost their green, the oppo- 
site bank receded from my sight, and every living object on 
which my roving eye had rested, disappeared ; a moment later 
each wavelet of the Brandywine became a mighty breaker that 
pounded on the rocky shore and threatened to engulf me. Out of 
the darkness that was settling down in great black curtains all 
about me — I saw with straining eyes the outlines of a strange, 
grim figure looming up — I felt the touch of chilling spray and 
heard immediately in front of me the grinding of a keel. The 
figure beckoned and I started. Despite my eflforts to retreat I 
found myself advancing, and beheld with open eyes the misty 

[ 124 



features of Old Charon, as I had carved them years ago from 
Dore's illustrations of Dante's Comedy. How was it possible 
for David Hume to jest with such a steersman? But let me look 
him boldly in the face ! A happy thought, for as I face him, lo ! he 
stands resolved into a little boy, who, having gently touched me 
in my dream, is waiting now, with oar in hand, to take me to 
the further shore. 




125 ] 



THE BATTLE AT THE FORD. 



"Upon this hill did Freedom's Father stand, 
Design'd the saviour of a sinking land ; 
Battling with Britain's host for liberty- 
Approaching armies now I seem to see ; 
Like pent up tides let loose, they rush in might. 
With clashing steel, and waving banners bright ; 
Like wheat before the farmer's scythe, they fall. 
And scenes are here which stoutest hearts appal : 
Methinks a freeman's dying groan I hear, 
And now a Britain's death shriek fills mine ear; 
The expiring Hessian turns his eye in shame, 
To Europe's shores, and sighs to think he came 
To fight a people, who no wrong had given. 
Whose cause was sanction'd in the sight of Heaven." 

Lofland — Thoughts. 

HAVE visited many battle and duelling 
grounds, but never have I witnessed so 
romantic a scene or so lovely a land- 
scape, as when I ascended the lofty hill 
on which General Washington took his 
stand, and poured down a deadly fire on 
the enemy in the valley. In company 
with a party of literary gentlemen, I 
enjoyed the splendid prospect, while imagination pictured to 
my view the grand drama that had been enacted there in other 
days. It is a beautiful rolling countiy, and from the summit 
of the hill the variegated landscape extends as far as the eye 
can reach in all directions. But no mementoes are left of the 




[ 126 




battle. A calm sunshine and solitary silence now rest on those 
fields, those hills and valleys, which have been drenched with 
American and British blood." 

As Lofland's poetical temperament sometimes lured him into 
hyperbole, I feared 
that in this instance, 
his " lofty hill " might 
have to be reduced to 
a moderate elevation 
back of John Chads's 
old stone house, a 
short distance north- 
ward from the ford 
that bears his name ; 
but after climbing the knoll on a hot day in June, I was quite 
content to adopt his phraseology— indeed, dispute was impos- 
sible. 

It was up this hill that Washington rode, with a few at- 
tendants, on the morning of the battle, and with the aid of glasses 
endeavored to ascertain the character and position of the hos- 
tile forces west of the Brandy wine. When cannon balls from the 
enemy's artillery began to drop about him, he remarked to those 
whom curiosity had collected, " Gentlemen, you perceive we are 
attracting the notice of the enemy ; I think you had better 
retire." 

Retire ! gentlemen, for the enemy has arrived and the 
uncertainty that has long prevailed, is ended. There is no 
longer need for Washington to cast his eyes behind him, he need 
only look across the stream. In the woods on the west side, 
British redcoats and whiskered Hessians are gathering fast. 
The designs of Howe against Philadelphia are clear, though the 
route taken has been, as Washington remarks, " a strange one." 

It is three weeks since William Bardley sent his dispatch 

127 ] 



that the British fleet of one hundred ships had anchored off the 
river Patapsco. 

Would the enemy land at Baltimore or further up the bay ? 

That question Bardley could not resolve, but four days la- 
ter Howe answered it definitely, by landing his army of eighteen 
thousand men " in good health and spirits and admirably sup- 
plied with all the implements of war," at the Head of Elk. 
He was as near to Philadelphia at Brunswick as at Elkton, but 
Sir William, as Irving observes, had chosen a circuitous route, 
in the expectation of finding friends among the people of Cecil 
County and of the lower counties of Pennsylvania, where many 
of the inhabitants were Quakers and non-combatants. 

On August 24th, Washington led his ill-assorted troops deco- 
rated with sprigs of green, through the crowded streets of Phila- 
delphia toward the Brandywine, and the next day he reached 
Wilmington just as the British anchored in the Elk. 

There were famous old mills of the Brandywine that must 
not feed the army of Howe. These mills were built at the foot 
of the slope down which the stream makes its last rush from out 
the hills. " Begun by Oliver Canby, ancestor of a long line of 
straight-coated Quaker millers, they were known far and near 
in those early days, when the wheat crop of the country was 
harvested upon a narrow strip along the Atlantic, and grists 
came to them not only from the fat fields of Southeastern 
Pennsylvania and Northern Delaware, but from Maryland, and 
even New Jersey." 

There were stores at the Head of Elk that had also given 
Washington much concern. On August 27th, however, his dili- 
gent efforts enabled him to write to the President of Congress : 
" I this morning returned from the Head of Elk, which I left 
last night. ... I am happy to inform you that all the pub- 
lic stores are removed from thence, except about seven thousand 
bushels of corn. This I urged the Commissary there to get off 

[ 128 



as soon as possible, if the enemy should not prevent it, which 
their situation gives them but too easy an opportunity of doing." 

On the 7th of September, General Howe's plan of operations 
was very uncertain : " Since General Howe's debarkation in 
Elk River, writes Washington to Major-General Heath, " he has 
moved on about seven miles ; his main body now lies at Iron 
Hill, and ours near a village called Newport. In this position 
the armies are from eight to ten miles apart. . . . Some 
imagine that he will extend himself from the head waters of 
the Chesapeake to the Delaware, and by these means not only 
cut off the counties on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and two 
of those belonging to the Delaware State, from affording us any 
assistance, but will secure the horses, cattle, and forage, of 
which there are considerable quantities in that country. This, 
in my opinion, considering how far the campaign is already ad- 
vanced, would take up more time than he could spare. For, 
supposing him to be able to form such an extension, he would 
be as far from Philadelphia as he is at present, and he would be 
subject to an attack upon some part of his line, which, from its 
length, could not be properly supported. A few days past he 
advanced two or three miles forward, during which there was 
pretty sharp skirmishing between our light troops and his van. 
We had about forty killed and wounded, and I imagine the enemy 
had considerably more, as ours were thinly posted behind cover, 
and they were in column." 

On the 9th, Washington writes another letter to the Presi- 
dent of Congress, for the intentions of Sir William have become 
clearer : 

" The enemy advanced yesterday with a seeming intention of 
attacking us upon our post near Newport. We waited for them 
the whole day ; but they halted in the evening at a place called 
Milltown, about two miles from us. Upon reconnoitring their 
situation, it appeared probable that they only meant to amuse 

129 ] 



us in front, while their real intent was to march by our right, 
and, by suddenly passing the Brandywine and gaining the 
heights upon the north side of that river, get between us and 
Philadelphia, and cut us off from that city. To prevent this, it 
was judged expedient to change our position immediately. The 
army accordingly marched at two o'clock this morning, and will 
take post this evening upon the high grounds near Chads's Ford." 

The advent of Washington at Chads's Ford aroused the 
neighborhood to the greatest pitch of excitement. The first ac- 
count the inhabitants had of the enemy after their landing, 
located them at Iron Hill, a place not much known ; the next re- 
port advanced them to Allen's Tavern, in the settlement of New 
Garden ; at which place a man had actually seen them, in fact, 
had been so near them as "to discover the buttons on their 
coats." 

Some persons, who had manifested a disposition to support 
the American cause, began to remove their families and drive 
off their stock to a safe distance from the British plunderers, 
others of greater faith remained at home, trusting in Provi- 
dence, and watching with interest the construction of intrench- 
ments and the disposition of the American troops along the 
Brandywine. 

At Chads's Ford, the course of the Brandywine is south-east- 
erly. Below the dam, near the bridge, its width is a little less 
than one hundred and fifty feet. Above the dam, it exceeds 
that measurement at many points, while in times of freshets 
the tussocky meadow of a thousand feet between the eastern 
bank of the dam and Chads's house, is frequently covered with 
water. 

Werner, the Hessian Lieutenant of Artillery, who prepared 
a map of the battle, calls it a " creek," Stedman, who served 
under Cornwallis, and wrote an account of the engagement, 
speaks of it as a " rivulet," and also as a " river." " Brandy- 

[ 130 




131 ] 



wine River" is the term used twenty-five years later by astute 
petitioners, who wanted a bridge at the Street Road Fording, 
and its use was justified by the fact that the Brandywine 
sustained a ferry three miles below, and occasionally defied 
travelers on the Nottingham and Starve Gut roads to cross it. 

With the last hundred years, dam and bridge and railroad 
embankments, have made many changes around Chads's Ford— 
the ferry posts are fallen, the ford on the old Nottingham Road 
has left no hoof -prints on the banks of the stream. Starve Gut 
Road has changed its course, and the willows bow their heads 
to the water where once the forest trees lifted their branches 
high in the air. And yet a short walk up the railroad track is 
all that is needed to enable one to appreciate the remark of the 
English Chief of Engineers, concerning the topography of this 
country: "an amazing country,— a succession of large hills 
rather sudden, with narrow vales— in short, an entire defile." 

At the time of the battle, the country was covered with 

forests through which there were various public roads, running 

from north to south, and from east to west. 

I ^ Of the latter the most im- 

\j^^-^3^^^^======~^:^^ portant was "Ye Great Road 

■'^ ' leading from Chester to Not- 
RO.0 DocK.T-B«,r^i828. tlngham," which passed by 

Welch's Tavern and Kennett Meeting House. Travelers on this 
road forded the Brandywine three 
hundred feet or more north of the 
present bridge. 

In 1754, a road was granted, 
which afterward bore the sig- 
nificant name of Starve Gut Road, 
a name applied to it ( so tradition 
says ) because no dinner was pro- 
vided for the viewers. This road 




Road Docket, 1754. 



[ >32 



began at the Nottingham Road near the east bank of the Bran- 
dywine and crossed the stream about one hundred and fifty feet 
south of the present bridge. ( " Beginning at a Stake on the 
Great Road leading from Chester to Nottingham, on ye Land of 
John Chads, thence on sd Land S. 2 E. 22 perches to Brandywine 
Creek, thence crossing said Creek, etc.") In later road pro- 
ceedings it is referred to as Starve Gut or Lower Ford Road. 
The Upper Ford and the Lower Ford were within six hun- 
dred feet of each other. North of the Nottingham Road and 
running in the same direction at a distance varying from one to 
two miles was the Street Road ; at right angles with each of 
these roads, on the west of the Brandywine, was the Great Val- 
ley Road leading toward the north ; on the east side of the 
Brandywine was another road running south by Sconneltown 
across the Street Road to the Birmingham Meeting-house. 

Washington took his position on the east side of the Bran- 
wine, where a redoubt, with artil- 
lery, commanded by Proctor, was 
thrown up on the bluff bordering on 
^l^jg'^'^^"^ the flat ground, a little north of the 
Nottingham road. This redoubt di- 
rectly faced and commanded the 
passage at Chads's Ford. 

The right of the American army 
From Werners Map. composcd of slx brigades iix threo di- 

visions, under Sullivan, Stirling and Stephen, extended two 
miles up the stream. Sullivan, the senior officer of the three, 
was in command, and was stationed at Brinton's Ford with or- 
ders to guard all the fords above that to the Forks of Brandywine. 
In accordance with instructions received from Sullivan, Colonel 
Hazen placed a Delaware regiment at Jones's Ford ( Painter's 
Bridge ), one-half of his own regiment at Wistar's Ford ( Len- 
ape ), and the other half at Buffington's Ford ( Shaw's Bridge ). 
i.w ] 





PYLE'S FORD. 




The Pennsylvania Militia under Armstrong, constituted the 

left and stretch- 



ed along some 
rough ground 
known as Rocky 
Field, or Hill, 
to Pyle's Ford, 
two miles below, 
where Colonel 
Eyre placed his 
cannon. This 
part of the 
country was thickly wooded. 

Wayne's division, with Proctor's artillery, occupied the 
ground at the ford. Greene's division ( consisting of the brig- 
ades of Weedon and Muhlenberg), formed a reserve, and took, 
during the battle, a central position between the right and the 
left wing. 

East of the ford 
about a mile, on 
the north side of 
the Nottingham 
Road, the Com- 
mander - in - Chief 
established head- 
quarters at the old 
Ring Tavern. A 
half-mile farther 
down the same road, Lafayette lodged in a little house belonging 
to Benjamin Gilpin. 

On the 10th of September, having arranged his army and 
thrown out Maxwell's Light Artillery on the west side of the 
Brandywine to guard the approaches to the Ford, Washington 

[ 134 











YETTE'6 Quarter 



resolute and hopeful, awaits the enemy. 

It is patent to him, it is patent to his staff, that the ap- 
proaching contest will be an unequal one. Surveying his 

forces, increased as 
they have been by 
the militia of Penn- 
sylvania, by volun- 
teers, and by the 
:^i division of Sullivan, 
^ Washington may 
count fifteen thou- 
sand men, but ex- 
cluding the sick, 
and those who lack 
clothing or effective arms, his army does not contain twelve 
thousand really serviceable troops. 

Opposed to them, is Howe's army of eighteen thousand 
veterans, in excellent condition, thoroughly equipped, and com- 
manded by officers of long experience and unquestioned mili- 
tary skill. 

But, Philadelphia must not fall without a battle ; the public 
demands one, and Europe is waiting, open-eyed, to see if Ameri- 
cans can stand before the King's troops in a fight in the 
open and upon equal conditions. Hitherto, as Lafayette de- 
clares, they have fought " combats, but not battles." 

On the 10th of September, the two grand divisions of the 
British army— one of eleven thousand men under Knyphausen, 
the other of seven thousand men under Cornwallis, meet at Ken- 
nett Square, and the plan of battle for the morrow is discussed. 
Washington has taken a strong position. An attack on the left, 
impossible ; in front, problematical ; storming might result in 
success, but would certainly result in terrible loss of life ; the 
right is his weak point, he shall be taken in flank by a long cir- 
135 ] 



cuitous route. It succeeded at Long Island, why not at Chads's 
Ford? The division of Cornwallis shall make a wide detour, 
cross both branches of the Brandywine, get in Washington's 
right and rear at Dilworthtown, and cut him off from Philadel- 
phia. Meanwhile Knyphausen shall conduct the troops under 
his command to the high ground on the west side of the Brandy- 
wine, commence a brisk cannonading and feign attempts to 
cross the stream. When advised of Cornwallis's arrival at Dil- 
worthtown by the sound of cannon, let Knyphausen cross the 
Brandywine, and in a combined attack, crush the American army 
or drive it down the Delaware Peninsula. 

The morning of the 11th is hot and foggy. Cornwallis 
starts at daybreak, Knyphausen, between seven and nine o'clock. 
Knyphausen has seven miles to go, Cornwallis, sixteen. From 
a point a mile east of Kennett Square, Cornwallis's division in 
light marching order— without knapsacks— thread their way 
through the fog northward toward Trimble's Ford, while Knyp- 
hausen's division march eastward toward the Brandywine hills of 
Pennsbury, west of Chads's Ford, five miles south of the " forks." 

Maxwell's riflemen also move— move as far as Kennett 
Meeting-house and stop. A scouting party go a little farther 
and hitch their horses right in front of Welch's Tavern. New 
England rum and apple-jack are palatable drinks for thirsty 
soldiers, but not when murderous Hessians watch the door and 
await their exit. With retreat from the front cut off, what shall 
they do ? They do the only thing possible — run from the back, 
firing as they go— a mere sputtering volley, which injures noth- 
ing but their own horses. 

By half-past nine o'clock, Knyphausen's troops reach Ken- 
nett Meeting-house, where Maxwell's riflemen, from behind the 
graveyard wall, fire into them, and fall back. Some of the 
enemy drop. How many, who never rose again, the records do 
not state, but enough to cause confusion. Momentary confu- 

[ 136 



sion, however, out of which order soon issues, and the march is 
resumed— this time with caution. Caution may well be taken, 
for the country is woody, and the sharpshooters of Maxwell are 
out to-day to quit scores for operations lately had on White Clay 
Creek, when the enemy was supported by artillery. 

Knyphausen is in high spirits, full of confidence, full also 
of a certain grim humor, which manifests itself when an English 
Quakeress rushes out and implores him not to go down to the 
Ford. " Dear man ? " she exclaims, " George Washington is on 
the other side of the stream, and has all the men in this world 
with him." " Never mind. Madam," replies Knyphausen, with 
a laconicism worthy of Wallenstein, " I have all the men in the 
other world with me." 

The skirmishing continues from the Meeting-house to the 
Brandywine. Despite the efforts of Maxwell, Knyphausen 
reaches the high ground near the Ford in an hour's time, and 
shortly afterwards, Ferguson's Corps of Royal Riflemen throws 
up light works on which to put two guns to answer Proctor. 
Immediately the companies of Porterfield and Wagoner cross 
the Ford and attack them. In fighting their way up the woody 
valley they force a company of the 
enemy to seek protection back of Wil- ''^^^. 

Ham Harvey's house, where Proctor fires X ^^ W3- 
on them, and incidentally fires on Har- /" i-^ /^^ 
vey, who, seated on his porch, obsti- \^, /^ •*f^ 
nately declines to move, and resolutely ^^^^^C_ ^ 
declares his intention to protect his prop- \ f{S>l ji 

erty at all hazards from Hessian plun- *''^; | :^! ^N|Ich«ds 

derers. Only when a twelve pound can- ^'liJ,~^i^^^^^/) 

non ball plunges through his kitchen t'^ii^Z^^^nZlj/ 

wall and ploughs up his "pia?za," does — - ^ -^ 

he appreciate the significance of neigh- '"°" ""'' " """""' '""■ 
bor Way's remark, " Thee is in danger, come away." 
137 ] 



Porterfield and Wagoner must also withdraw— Maxwell, 
too, for a heavy column, coming south from Brinton's Ford, out- 
flanks them and forces them to cross the stream. A little later, 
and the hills for half a mile back from the Brandywine are oc- 
cupied by Knyphausen's troops, and Knyphausen's guns are 
placed in position to command the Ford. 

Amos House, who has left his dwelling near Chads's Ford, 
and been " succeeded therein by Lord Stirling and his attend- 
ants," goes down to his premises after the cannonading has com- 
menced, " to see what discovery he can make," and rides " under 
the cannon balls that are discharged from the artillery on the 
hills on each side of the creek, without receiving any injury 
therefrom." 

By repeated feints, the Hessian General has purposely 
wasted the morning in skirmishing, for too many troops must 
not be brought into action until Cornwallis gain his position. 

At noon, the hot skirmishing is over. There is a little de- 
sultory firing on both sides— nothing more— seeing which, Wash- 
ington's Secretary, Colonel Harrison, writes a note to Congress 
that there is no doubt but that the enemy will be repulsed. 

But what of Cornwallis and his division ? They ivej^e on 
the Great Valley Road, and Howe with them. Colonel Bland, on 
the west side of the Brandywine, near Jones's Ford, saw his 
column moving toward Trimble's Ford, and Captain Simpson 
actually gave them three rounds. At eleven o'clock, Lieutenant- 
General Ross sent this message to Sullivan : • 

"Great Valley Road, 
" Dear General, 11 o'clock, a. m. 

" A large body of the enemy, from every account five 
thousand, with sixteen or eighteen field-pieces, marched 
along this road just now. This road leads to Taylor's Ferry 
and Jeffrey's Ferry, on the Brandywine, and to the Great 
Valley, at the Sign of the Ship, on the Lancaster Road to 
Philadelphia. There is also a road from the Brandywine 

[ 138 






m ux AOMzw^.a/^ wa4/pAn/ 



A/Wi 



to Chester by Dilworth Town. We are close in their rear 
with about seventy men. Captain Simpson lay in ambush 
with twenty men, and gave them three rounds within a small 
distance, in which two of his men were wounded, one mort- 
ally. I believe General Howe is with this party, as Joseph 
Galloway is here known by the inhabitants, with whom he 
spoke, and told them that General Howe was with him. 
" Yours, 

"James Ross, Lieutenant-Colonel." 

Information of this kind smacks of moral certainty, and 
acting on it, Washington orders Sullivan to cross the Brandy- 
wine and engage Cornwallis's division ; as for Greene, let him 
cross above Chads's Ford and strike Knyphausen on the left flank. 

The troops are put in motion, and Green advances to the 
edge of the stream, when behold ! the movement is checked, 
for it seems a certain Major Spear has traveled from Martin's 
Tavern to Welch's Tavern, and seen nothing. 

" Brenton's Ford, 11 September. 
"Dear General, 

" Since I sent you the message by Major Moore, I saw 
Major Spear of the militia, who came this morning from a 
tavern called Martin's, at the fork of the Brandywine. He 
came from thence to Welch's Tavern, and heard nothing of 
the enemy about the fork of the Brandywine, and is confi- 
dent they are not in that quarter ; so that Colonel Hazen's 
information must be wrong. I have sent to that quarter, 
to know whether there is any foundation for the report, and 
shall give your excellency the earliest information. 

" I am, &c., John Sullivan." 

Who was Spear, or Spicer as he is sometimes called, and of 
what militia ? To this question historians are dumb. Stone can 
not place him, " neither," declares he, by way of excuse, " can 
Egle." Pennsylvania does not want him, and New Jersey long 
since renounced all claim to him. Stone thinks his lie is too great 
for a spy— requires too much ignorance on the part of his hearers, 

139 ] 



and accordingly regards him as " a tavern hero." But whether 
drunken patriot, wily spy, or tavern hero, Spear unquestionably 
saved the Battle of Brandywine for the British. " The misfor- 
tune which happened to us on the 11th of September," writes 
Washington to Sullivan a month and a half after the battle, 
" I ascribe principally to the information of Major Spear, trans- 
mitted to me by you, and yet I never blamed you for conveying 
that intelligence. On the contrary, considering from whom and 
in what manner it came to you, I should have thought you cul- 
pable in concealing it. The Major's rank, reputation and 
knowledge of the country, gave him a full claim to credit and 
attention. His intelligence . . . was a most unfortunate 
circumstance, . . . but it was not your fault that the intel- 
ligence was eventually found to be erroneous." 

But enough of retrospection. Spear's "intelligence" de- 
ceives Sullivan and fills the mind of Washington with painful 

uncertainty. Did Corn- 
wallis march up the Great 
Valley Road in the morn- 
ing ? If so, did he cross 
Trimble's Ford? or, did 
he march down the right 
bank of the Brandywine 
and reunite his column 
with that of Knyphausen ? 
The light horse sent out 
to reconnoiter, support the latter view, but all is in doubt. 

At two o'clock doubt no longer exists, for 'Squire Cheyney 
rides up to Sullivan with information both definite and ominous. 
" The British have crossed the Brandywine and are almost at 
hand, approaching from the north." Sullivan listens, but cannot 
believe it. " Lead me to the Commander-in-Chief," prays Chey- 
ney. When his request is granted, he finds even Washington 

[ 140 




incredulous, and his staff inclined to sneer. " If you doubt my 
word," exclaims the now thoroughly disgusted 'Squire, to Wash- 
ington, " put me under guard until you can ask Anthony Wayne 
or Persie Frazer if I am a man to be believed." " I would have 
you know," says he, turning to the attendant genei-als, " that I 
have this day's work as much at heart as e'er a blood of you." 
A few minutes later, Cheyney's statements are corroborated 
by a dispatch from Sullivan, enclosing a note from Colonel 
Bland : 

" Two o'clock, p. m. 
" Dear General :— Colonel Bland has this moment sent 
me word, that the enemy are in the rear of my right about 
two miles, coming down. There are, he says, about two 
brigades of them. He also says he saw a dust back in the 
country for above an hour. I am, &c. John Sullivan." 

"A QUARTER PAST ONE O'CLOCK. 

" Sir : — I have discovered a party of the enemy on the 
heights, just on the right of the two Widow Davis's, who 
live close together on the road called the Fork Road, about 
half a mile to the right of the Meeting-house (Birming- 
ham ). There is a higher hill in their front. 

"Theodoric Bland." 

It is a certainty, most deplorable, but nevertheless a cer- 
tainty, that Cornwallis has crossed both branches of the Brandy- 
wine, and the head of his column is halted at Sconnelltown, 
the men eating, and their horses refreshing themselves on all 
the corn patches within reach. 

An hour ago, the women of that village were gathered 
about a wheelwright shop, wringing their hands and mournfully 
crying, " The English are coming, and murdering all before 
them, young and old." At present, they are interested in scar- 
let uniforms and gold lace, and find the officers " handsome men 
of uncommon social disposition." 

Even the common soldiers look well, but looked better 

141 ] 



A\APshowing' routes taken 

GORNWAlibIS and KWpHAVSEN 
<2— — o also bosition of' c^~~~~s> 

AMEBI6AN ABMY 



WEST CHESTER 




an hour ago, when they came out of the woods into Emmor 
Jefferis's field above the Ford. Jefferis, himself, does not appre- 
ciate them, for Jefferis's cellars were stored with liquors be- 
fore they came, and now contain only empty casks. Right 
heartily did they drink to the health of King George, after 
which Sir William honored their host by pressing him into his 
Majesty's service. Up the hill toward Sconnelltown they went 
— Cornwallis's men a trifle out of step, boisterously inquiring, 
" Where are the rebels ? " 

Let them march a mile further to Osborne's Hill, and if 
their eyes are good, they will see some of them forming on the 
high ground near Birmingham, with a few light companies 
thrown forward into the walled graveyard. 

Meanwhile, Colonel Hazen, who saw the British crossing 
the Brandywine at Jefferis's Ford, has made a rapid movement 
down the stream, taking up his detachments at Wistar's Ford 
( Lenape ) and at Jones's Ford ( Painter's Bridge ), and has met 

Sullivan coming up from Brin- 
ton's with orders to march with 
his division, join with and take 
command of that and those of 
Stirling and Stephen, and op- 
pose the enemy. Where the 
enemy is, what route the other 
divisions have taken, where he 
may form a junction with them, 
—of these things, Sullivan knows 
nothing, but turns eastward on 
the Street Road, and after going a short distance, is suddenly 
headed by some British soldiers in the road, not more than forty 
yards from his advance guard. 

Whereat, he turns off to the right, and going a little dis- 
tance, discovers the divisions of Stirling and Stephen " in the 
143 ] 




East B RADFORD Twi^/; 



Am05 

Heirs 
OANILL 




WE5TT0WN 
TWP. 



STREET 

JONES 



ROAO 

■J0NE5 
HOUSE 



THORNBURY 
TWP 



rear and to the right." Ordering Kazan's regiment to " pass a 
hollow way, file off to the right and face to cover the artillery," 
Sullivan attempts to form his men " on an advantageous height 
in a line with the other divisions," but unfortunately almost 
half a mile to the left. 

A lad by the name of Joseph Townsend, who has been 
strolling through the fields of 
East Bradford ahead of the 
British army, stops for a mo- 
ment at Amos Davis's line fence. 
To his great astonishment he sees 
the Hessian advance guard at the 
Street Road — seven hundred 
yards off— fired upon by a 
company of Americans in t h e 
orchard north of Samuel Jones's 
brick dwelling house ; then, turn- 
ing his eyes northward, he feasts 
them with " a grand view of the British army advancing over 
and down the side of Osborne's Hill and the land of James Car- 
ter, scarcely a vacant space left." 

Seeing " such a tremendous force coming on and ready to 
engage in action," Joseph, "while under no apprehension of dan- 
ger," nevertheless finds that his " inconsiderate curiosity " has 
prompted him "to exceed the bounds of prudence," and con- 
cludes it best to retire. Does actually retire to Osborne's Hill, 
from which point the British generals have been watching Stir- 
ling and Stephen form their line on a hill a hundred rods or 
more southeast of Birmingham Meeting-house. The ground is 
well selected, " a natural glacis " in front and a thick wood in 
the rear, but what a gap between them and Sullivan. 

Stirling and Stephen think that Sullivan's division should 



TWP 



be brought on to theirs, and this gap closed. 



Sullivan agrees 
[ 144 



with them, but Howe has already determined that such move- 
ment shall not be effected, has already ordered an attack. 

From his post in the center, Sullivan commands the artillery 
to play briskly. He will stop the progress of the enemy and 
give the troops time to form, particularly Deborre's brigade. 
Martinet Deborre moves strictly according to rule, insists on 
every punctilio of military etiquette, claims the right of the 
line and values precedence above service. Martinet Deborre is 
a conspicuous figure to-day, in the next battle he will not be 
seen. 

Sullivan's soldiers are ignorant of tactics. " When in line 
of battle, it became necessary for a regiment to assume a posi- 
tion to the right without breaking ranks," says Lafayette, 
" instead of filing simply to the right, the left began a never- 
ending counter march." In closing the gap, Sullivan's division 
is confused. Their commander sends four aides-de-camp to 
rally the troops— the confusion becomes worse. He goes him- 
self, but no sooner does he form a second party than the first 
runs off. He might try a third were time not so precious. But 
suppose the hill whereon his artillery is placed should be carried 
by the enemy, rout would be total, retreat impossible. A final 
word of inspiration is all he can give before he gallops to the 
center. A few minutes later and the Guards and Grenadiers are 
upon them. Some of the regiments fight— the most fire and 
flee. Is it lack of courage, or lack of captaincy ? Much may 
be said on either side. Let us go to the center. 

The center stands firm. For an hour and a half the di- 
visions of Stirling and Stephen, aided by the three regiments 
of Hazen, Ogden and Dayton, from Sullivan's division— in all 
not more than three thousand men, withstand the British col- 
umn of double their number. Five times the British soldiers 
drive the Americans from the hill, five times is it retaken. Only 
when Cornwallis turns the whole fire of his artillery upon them 
145 ] 



does he force them to withdraw, and then they take their ar- 
tillery and baggage with them. 

Eastward toward Dilworthtown they retreat, until they 
reach a point now known as Sandy Hollow, when 

" The wave of retreat checks its course there because, 
The sight of its master compel-s it to pause." 

Greene is at hand. His division has double-quicked it from the 
Ford— four miles in forty-five minutes. Opening his ranks he 
lets the retreating forces pass, and faces the enemy. 

Weedon's brigade is drawn up in the narrow defile, Muhlen- 
berg's brigade on the side of the road. " There is a time to 
pray," declared the fighting parson in his last sermon to his con- 
gregation, " and there is a time to fight." That time has come. 
Flushed with success the British troops advance and — stop. 
They charge again and again, but are as often driven back. " A 
brief action" is the term used by Howe. Montressor, then, 
must be wrong, for he tells us that it was the heaviest fire of 
the battle. 

At the Ford, is much confusion. Wayne has little more 
than a thousand men to meet Knyphausen's division that is pre- 
paring to cross. Enveloped with smoke, from his own and the 
American cannon, Knyphausen marches his column, under the 
command of Grant, into the stream. Proctor's guns plow great 
gaps in the advance ranks — so that for days the farmers fish dead 
bodies from the water — but the enemy moves forward, makes 
the crossing, captures the redoubt. Wayne is loath to retire — 
will not retire until a body of British troops from Cornwallis's 
division on his right, forces him not only to withdraw, but to 
make a hasty and disorderly retreat. 

Greene also has withdrawn, and night has come. 



[ '46 



OBSERVATIONS. 




■iiife. ''^' 



' I looked and thought the quiet of the scene 
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be." 

/}/ter a Tempest — Bryant. 

T is forty years since I first sat on the porch of 
Alban Seal's store at Birmingham, and handled 
with childish curiosity a lot of balls that 
had been found on the battlefield of Bran- 
dywine ; forty years, since I first gath- 
ered violets in the Quaker graveyard ; 
forty years, since I first gazed with awe 
on a dark spot on the Meeting-house floor, 
which the sexton told me was blood. 
Forty years have added no houses to Birmingham, but have 
somewhat altered the aspect of the graveyard. Then, no stones 
appeared above the grass, now, there are monuments to Wayne 
and Lafayette, and statues of Lazarus, Mary and Jesus. Some 
say this marble Lazarus illustrates the pitiful condition of the 
ragged Continentals ; this Jesus the glory of self-sacrifice. 
Gifted souls are they who discern such things in these statues ; 
my poor weak eyes see naught but three spoiled blocks of mar- 
ble uselessly encased in glass. 

While time has affected the appearance of the graveyard, 
it has wrought no change in the list of questions asked by those 
who visit here. Walking about these quiet grounds, on this 
August afternoon, I find myself the target of some old inter- 
rogatories. 

" Where was Lafayette wounded ? " asks one who looks in- 
quisitively around to find a marker. " On which of these hills 
147 ] 



did Sullivan form his line of battle?" inquires another, and 
gravely adds, " his preceding conduct seems to me most repre- 
hensible." By way of interlude, a girlish voice says tremulously, 
as girlish eyes look at the hard sun-baked ground, " Do you 
think a real Lord Percy fell here?" Then follow a number 
of queries relative to Stirling, Stephen and Deborre, ending 
with the philosophical question, "What would have been the 
result had Washington's orders to cross and attack Knyphausen 
been carried out?" 

The shaft erected to Lafayette in 1895, by the Chester 
County Historical Society, stands on the north side of the Dil- 
worthtown road opposite Mrs. Biddle's lawn, and contains the 
following inscription : 

ON THE RISING GROUND 

A SHORT DISTANCE SOUTH OF THIS SPOT, 

LAFAYETTE 

WAS WOUNDED AT THE BATTLE OF BRANDYWINE, 

SEPTEMBER II, 1777. 

A commentary on this statement was furnished by the his- 
torian who delivered the address on the occasion of its erec- 
tion. He expressed the view that Lafayette was wounded be- 
fore Sullivan's division was forced from the height first occupied 
by it. His conclusion, however, is against the weight of the 
evidence. " Somewhere upon that slope I was wounded," said 
Lafayette, when he visited this battlefield in 1825, "some- 
where upon that slope," extending his outspread hand toward a 
piece of land fifty rods below Sandy Hollow. But what mat- 
ters it whether it was this spot or that— "the honor," as Lafa- 
yette viewed it, was of mingling his blood " with that of 
many other American Soldiers on the heights of the Bran- 
dywine." 

To the query, " On which of these hills did Sullivan form his 

[ 148 



S "^ 




line of battle," it is impossible to give an authoritative answer. 
Colonel Hooton and his committee, in their report to McCall 
Post in 1900, assert that the British line of battle formed on 
the west side of the road from Sconnelltown to Birmingham, 
north of the Street Road, could hardly have been less than a 
quarter of a mile from left to right, and as Sullivan was seven 
hundred feet west of the right of this line, he must have been 
almost half a mile west of the point where the road from Scon- 
nelltown intersects with the Street Road. 

" In their reading of Sullivan's statement," they say, " the 
historians who have written about the Battle of Brandywine 
have all concluded that as soon as Sullivan saw the British 
he went right into the field and formed his line of battle . . . 
about where Parker Norris's house now stands. In this con- 
clusion they make no allowance for the length of the 
British line of battle west of the Birmingham road. 

" It is not likely that Sullivan made the extraordinary move- 
ment of turning the head of his column to the right and into 
the fields at the south, at the point where he first saw the 
British ahead of him. 

" By such a movement he would expose his left flank and 
the rear of his entire column to the enemy, and they not more 
than seven hundred feet distant. Is it not more probable that 
he about-faced his whole column, and after he had marched a 
safe distance away from the British, ordered them into the 
field on the south, and marched until he was in a line with the 
other two divisions at least a quarter of a mile south and west 
of where historians think he formed his line. 

" Thomas Sharpless, whose father lived on the ground of 
the battle, says his father told him that his father, the grand- 
father, told him that the American line was first formed on an 
eminence about a quarter of a mile southwest of where Harvey 
Darlington's spring house stands, a proper position on which to 
149 ] 



plant artillery and place infantry. It is almost in a line with 
Stirling and Stevens' position and distant almost half a mile. 




From Hooton'8 Map 



" Any one visiting the battle ground possessed of this in- 
formation and reading Sullivan's report, will see at a glance 
that this was undoubtedly the place where his line was formed." 

Many visitors to the battle-ground will differ with Hooton 
in his concluding observation. 

As to the reprehensibleness of Sullivan's conduct before he 
turned into the Street Road, one may be pardoned for adopting 
Washington's opinion in preference to Bancroft's. "All the 
fords above Chads'," writes the Commander-in-Chief, "from 
which were taught to apprehend danger, were guarded by de- 
tachments from your division. . . . Upon the whole, then, 
no part of your conduct preceding the action, was in my judg- 
ment reprehensible." Washington understood the actualities, 
Bancroft did not. 

What would have been the result had Washington's orders 
to cross and attack Knyphausen been carried out ? I know not. 
"These would have heens," as Carlyle says, "are mostly 
vanity, and the World's History could never in the least be what 
it would or should by any manner of potentiality, but simply and 
altogether what it is." 

[ 150 



POINT LOOKOUT AND GUYENCOURT. 




" Once did I linger tiiere alone, till day 
Closed, and at length the calm of twilight came. 
So grateful, yet so solemn." 

Rogers— Italy. 

HALF a mile or more below Cossart, 
which station is about two miles south 
of Chads's Ford, a sign-post on the 
railroad embankment gives notice to 
travelers that they have reached the 
circular line between Pennsylvania 
and Delaware. 
As I cross the arc, the sorrowful 
words of one of her historians recur to me : " From the small- 
ness of the State of Delaware, both in population and territory, 
and the few ( even of Delawareans ) who manifest any interest 
in its affairs, the author has been compelled to issue this book in 
numbers of thirty-two pages each, at thirty cents per number." 
Poor Vincent ! Could he but have anticipated the method 
now in vogue, and inserted in his history some eulogies and en- 
gravings of " distinguished people," he might have published a 
second volume out of the profits of the first. Vanitas vani- 
tatum ! Verily, Solomon was a wonderful philosopher. 
151 ] 



^mt^^^i^ 




The sign-post is a stone's throw from Point Lookout, and 
Point Lookout, I rejoice to say, is in Pennsylvania. Clamber- 
ing up its steep sides my legs give evidence of a number of 
muscles of whose existence I have hitherto been unconscious. 
It is a rugged mass of rock, and the path is briary, but ample re- 
ward for a day's 
travel is found in 
V* one view of the 



sweepmg curves 
^, f the Brandy- 
F^ wme, and in the 
golden greens be- 
yond. What vital- 
izmg air, too, one 
mhales on its sum- 
mit, air that Fred- 
erika Bremmer would have called "the very breath of God." 
As I stand in contemplation, some alder bushes on the 
farther side open and a little girl breaks through and kneels 
on the brink to fill her pitcher with water. Hardly has she 
done so and turned her back, before two older girls shoot by in 
a canoe, leaving only a momentary line on the surface of the 
stream. I would that I could set some of the features of this 
picture before the mind's eye of the reader, but I cannot do, and 
shall not attempt what Thackeray said in a similar instance the 
best guide-book that ever was written cannot do ; I can, how- 
ever, follow his instructions, can, " Lay down my pen and ru- 
minate and cry, ' Beautiful ! ' once more, and to the reader, 
' come and see.' " 

About three-quarters of a mile up the stream from Cossart 
are the " Twin Bridges " ; one span crossing the water, the other 
stretching over the meadow. Ashmead is authority for the 
statement that this was done by the Commissioners of Delaware 

[ 152 



County on the score of economy, believing the bridge over the 
land would cost less than to fill the eastern approach with earth. 

In the bend of the Brandywine, opposite Point Lookout, 
can still be seen some ruins of an old saw mill, which has 
long disappeared. Sometime previous to 1777, William Twad- 
dell ( which name, according to my friend. Dr. Jesse C. Green, was 
once called Twaddle ) became the owner of the mill and was in- 
terested in increasing its capacity. When the American Army 
lay encamped at Chads's Ford, Twaddell bargained with a num- 
ber of deserting militiamen to dig a race for him, extending 
from above Pyle's Ford to his saw-mill, situated nearly three- 
quarters of a mile below. When the race was about finished 
Twaddell, in apparent alarm, came running to where the men 
were working, shouting out, " the British ! the British ! " where- 
upon the deserters hastily decamped, without waiting to be paid 
for their work. 

It is said that hidden in a wood not far from Point Look- 
out, is the Rock of the Devil's Footprint, " a solid rock, circular 
in shape, with a human foot stamped in the surface, side by side 
with the impress of a cloven hoof." Those who have looked for 
it have invariably reported their inability to find it, but upon in- 
quiry, I learn that in every instance they have confined their 
explorations to the woods on the Pennsylvania side. 

You will not find a description of this rock in the historical 
pages of Smith or Ashmead, but in Lippard's Blanche of Bran- 
dywine, to which book, for the benefit of those who have never 
read it, I shall devote the next two pages. 

The romance opens in England on the seventeenth of July, 
with a beautiful girl and white-haired old man as the chief, I may 
say, the only figures. The reader is requested to remember three 
dates on three dark panels, to wit : the seventeenth of July, the 
eleventh of September and the fourteenth of November, after 
which he is required to take sudden leave of the Lady Isidore 
153 ] 



and the Earl of Monthermer, that he may be transported to 
Chads's Ford and formally introduced to Lord Percy ( the old 
Earl's son ) and Captain Howard. 

Lord Percy is " the heir of the broad lands of Monthermer, 
renowned in the Court of Windsor, famed in the circles of Al- 
macks, the envy of one sex and the adoration of the other." 
Captain Howard is a kind of valet who is constantly remon- 
strating with his Lordship for falling in love with a " country 
Phillis, daughter of a retired Provincial Colonel, who served in 
Braddock's time, and who lives in a sort of wilderness called 
Wild-wood Grange, situated on the banks of . . . the Bran- 
dywine, near the Cross Road Inn, within a stone's throw of 
Chadds's Ford." 

Whether Lord Percy should be censured for surrendering 
his heart to this " country Phillis," the reader will judge when 
he sees the fair Blanche. 

With "raven locks" and "eyes like stars," her face is 
such " as visits the poet in his dreams — the artist in his reverie 
— a face where thought and tenderness and love and innocence 
speak in the glance, in the blush, in the slightest look or the 
faintest smile . . . lovely as the face of an angel form en- 
shrouded by a golden-hued cloud— a face all dream and vision 
and grandeur and beauty combined — each outline waving with 
the line of grace — each look beaming with soul, every expres- 
sion full of the magic of the mysterious fascination which the 
loveliness of woman holds over the heart of man with a spell 
that may not be described, can not be broken." 

Shade of Lord Nelson ! what Britisher, in the presence of 
such a creature, would not strike his colors ? What court-mar- 
tial would condemn him ? 

Following this introduction is the tragedy of the hay-stack, 
then the meeting of Randulph and Lafayette in the forest 
glade, the midnight gathering at the Rock of the Devil's Foot- 

[ 154 



print, an interesting view of Blanche in her oratory of prayer, 
looking out on the magnificent Valley of the Brandywine, the 
prophecy in the " Quaker Temple at Birmingham, . . . with 
its benches of unpainted oak and its white, solemn and sepulchre- 
like walls that glimmer ghastly in the lamp beams like the mar- 
ble of a death vault." 

When the curiosity of the reader has reached its intensest 
point, the curtain rises on the last act and the numerous 
mysteries of the tragical story are all solved in the Quaker 
graveyard. Hither comes George Washington in the name of 
God and Freedom — William Howe in the name of King George 
and Monarchy — Lord Percy with his father's pacquet in his 
bosom, Philip Walford with his secret, Randulph, the Prince, to 
clear his mother's name, Gilbert Gates to avenge his father's 
death, the bravo, David Walford, the avengers of Jacob May- 
land, the schoolmaster of Chads's Ford, and lastly, the Rose of 
Brandywine, and Blanche— "all instruments of fate." 

Readers of Frankenstein will appreciate Blanche of Bran- 
dywine. 

Above Smith's Bridge the stream flows along quietly, I had al- 
most said solemnly, 



iWM 



with overhanging 
vines on both sides, 
ministering alike to 
weary bodies and 
tired minds. Here, 
on a fallen tree I 
have sat for hours 
watching a swamp- 
cabbage push its 
green head through 
the sand, or following the flight of the kingfishers by their 
shadows on the dark waters. 
155 ] 








Smith's Mill is old. On the day I last stopped to interview 
the miller, I found it invested with the tradition of a Tory owner 
of Revolutionary times who had mixed poison with the flour that 
^ ^ . he ground for the 

' ^' ^")(a'y'^''0 Continental Army 

and had been hung 
at Chads's Ford. I 
leave the location 
of this gallows to 
those whose time 
and credulity are 
not so limited as 
mine. Hard, in- 
deed, was the lot 
of the Revolutionary heroes, but if all the traditions of the 
various mills be true, they were worse off in their food supplies 
than are we in these adulterate days. 

In reviewing his experiences on the island of St. Peter, 
Rousseau remarks in his " Confessions," " I know no homage 
more worthy of the Divinity than the silent admiration excited 
by the contemplation of his works, and which is not externally 
expressed. 

" I can easily comprehend the reason why the inhabitants of 
great cities who see nothing but walls and streets, have but little 
faith ; but not whence it happens that people in the country and 
especially such as live in solitude, can possibly be without it. 
How comes it to pass that these do not a hundred times a day 
elevate their minds in ecstasy to the author of the wonders which 
strike them. But to this effect my eyes must be struck with the 
ravishing beauties of nature. 

" In my chamber I pray less frequently and not so fervently, 
but at the view of a fine landscape I feel myself moved by what 
I am unable to tell. I have somewhere read of a wise bishop, 

[156 



who, in a visit to his diocese, found an old woman whose only 
prayer consisted in the single interjection, ' Oh ! ' * Good 
mother,' said he to her, ' continue to pray in this manner, your 
prayer is better than ours.' " 

The first time I saw the Brandywine near Guyencourt, I ut- 
tered the old woman's prayer and felt like falling on my knees. 
In looking for Granogue, with a view of shortening the distance 
I had crossed the heel of the " Horse Shoe," and unknowingly 
had left the station to my right, expecting to find it beyond the 
next turn. The train from Wilmington had passed me, the train 
to Wilmington was almost due. Bend after bend, will this sta- 
tion never appear, I asked myself. Already the puffs of an en- 
gine leaving some point above me, could be distinctly heard, and 
I broke into a run. Glancing suddenly to my left this part of 
the stream burst upon my sight. The last rays of the setting 
sun were flecking its surface with golden spots, and the wind 
was marking it with parallel lines as if the river were divided 
into so many streamlets close to each other ; one from Pocopson, 
another from Chester Valley, waters from Pennsbury, and 
waters from far off Nantmeal, were flowing side by side. I 
could hear their combined harmony, and had I been given longer 
time, it seemed to me I might have been able to distinguish the 
contributary music of each individual streamlet. A shriek be- 
hind me told me that the train was rapidly approaching, and 
I left the scene with much reluctance. I have seen it since 
softened and spiritualized by the moonlight ; I have seen it with 
night and the stars ; and I have sometimes wondered, as I gazed 
upon it, if it could have been more enchantingly beautiful when 
it was first moulded by the fingers of God. Upon stopping for a 
moment to read the names inscribed on the bridge, you ask your- 
self the question, " Is it a love of glory or a desire to furnish 
needful information to posterity, that induces Commissioners to 
carve their names upon the date-stone of bridges ? " 
157 ] 




Below the bridge the road enters a long wood of chestnut 
and beech trees. A jolt or two makes dull observers in their 

carriages look about them 
and they see the road to be 
a stony one. Each side is 
garnished with stone, and 

_ft rocks abound. Aspirants 

/ ' - / ^ ^ after temporary fame have 
climbed these trees to 
- ^'^'^•'■^" carve their names high on 
r^^^^* the trunks. Another jolt— 
'^ it seems better to stop and 

look around on foot. The great smoke-stack of Jessup & 
Moore's Paper Mill projects its curved top above the trees and 
announces to you, " This is Rockland." A singularly appropriate 
name, a name that would have suggested itself to travelers 
from whatever side they approached. Coming from the railroad 
they would drive between stone fences, enclosing stone houses, 
and here, in the little village, they would find even the trees 
sinking their roots, appar- 
ently not in earth, but 
clinging with pertinacity 
to some congenial rock. 
One in particular, seems to 
rest its trunk on the very 
top of a rock. A view from 
the other side, however, 
shows how the wriggling 
roots have lifted two rocks 
apart and are still sustain- 
ing their weight. Yes, this is Rockland, and in front of you is 
Rockland Dam. You have now advanced as far as you can go. 
A little distance below the land belongs to the DuPonts. 

[ 158 




THE HOME OF GUNPOWDER, 




' Midway upon the journey of our life 
I found myself within a forest dark, 
For the straightforward pathway had been lost. 
Ail me ! liow hard a thing it is to say 

What was the forest savage, rough, and stern, 
Which in the very thought renews the fear." 

Dante's Inferno — Longfellow'' s Translation. 

N the Valley of the Brandywine below 
Rockland, hidden among trees, is the Dela- 
wai-e home of Gunpowder. 

Gunpowder invites reflections, for it pre- 
sents many aspects. What is it? angel or 
devil? preserver of peace or breeder of 
strife ? It boasts itself the ruiner of f euda- 
'' lism and the last resource of the oppressed, 

yet it dare not deny that it has frequently elevated tyrants and 
destroyed patriots. Singularly indifferent to moral distinctions, 
it has slain some of the worst and some of the best of every na- 
tion under the sun. 

Who discovered it, "Black Barthel " or Friar Bacon? Let 
him answer who can. From the time when Callimacus, priest 
of Heliopolis, sold his formula for making rockets, until Ber- 
thold Swartz discovered by an accidental explosion, the advan- 
tages of granulation, many brains had investigated the dark 
secrets of explosives. Not infrequently the knowledge thus 
acquired was bequeathed from father to son as a most precious 
legacy. "If the secret is dared to be asked of thee," said a 
159 ] 



Greek parent to his child, "thou must refuse and reject the 
prayer, answering that this fire had been invented by an angel." 

The Fourteenth Century was quite young when several in- 
vestigators found out that a mixture of sulphur, niter and char- 
coal, would deliver a very heavy blow, and as McElroy says, 
" since it was a day when heavy blows commanded the highest 
price of anything in the market, the attention of all progressive 
men was turned to it. If we accept the rhythmic beat of the 
vibrating battering ram, the sturdiest blow then known was that 
which the momentum of a galloping horse delivered at the point 
of a lance. But even with the first rude tubes of wood and 
leather, or hooped iron boxes, the new force struck a blow that 
dismounted the doughtiest cavalier and breached the thickest 
walls." Leonardo da Vinci laid aside his palette to study the 
effect of this new force. He found that powder igniting formed 
something that he called fuoco, and that the greater the quan- 
tity of powder ignited the greater the force of the shot. New- 
ton turned aside from gravitation to consider it and called fuoco 
a vapor. Boyle fixed his eye upon it and declared fuoco to be 
a fluid, while Stahl in turn announced fuoco to be air in a state 
of condensation in the grain of powder brought into activity by 
fire. 

Then came the noted Belidor, who started the theory that 
sulphur and saltpeter possessed certain virtues which freed the 
air, and that Gunpowder and volcanoes exploded much by the 
same means, a theory very nearly akin to that of the monks in 
the days of Bacon, who could only consider sulphur burning as 
a decidedly Satanic smell. 

Scientist followed scientist — theory succeeded theory — 
meanwhile Gunpowder wrought great deeds, emancipating the 
masses from serfdom, and assisting the French peasantry to 
overthrow throughout Europe the prejudices and superstitions 
of ages. But enough of its history, this is its Delaware home. 

[ i6o 



You can hear, if you approach near enough, the everlast- 
ing grinding of its mills that lie along the river's bank. Under 
the trees close to the water's edge they do their work, do it in 
secret, and do it well, watched closely by Death. Wandering in 
the dark shades of this gloomy valley, listening to the ominous 
rumbling of ponderous machinery, and recalling the sudden fate 
of some who labored here, one's feelings find their vent in 
Dante's prayer, 

"May I escape this woe." 

Amid such surroundings it is impossible not to fall into se- 
rious meditations, impossible not to ask the question : " Will war 
ever cease ? " Year by year the navies of the world increase ; 
year by year its armies are replenished from a sturdy yeomanry 
that might be steadily employed in beneficent industries. More 
than fifty years have come and gone since Creasy wrote his 
"Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World," almost a hundred 
since Goethe cried aloud, 

"Terror is enough created 
Now be help inaugurated." 

Alas, help's inauguration has been postponed so often that 
the heart has become sick and hopelessly inquires : " Will the 
decisive battle ever be fought ? Will Gunpowder ever be de- 
throned ? Will reason ever dominate passion and bring man's 
nature in harmony with the song of Bethlehem ? " 

"War, originate how it may and issue how it will, is in its 
immediate action," as Giles puts it, " the saddest manifestation 
of humanity," and yet, when man's instinct of fight is moved to 
aid the feeble in their right, against the powerful in their 
wrong, we cannot refrain from agreeing with him, "that the 
heart of an angel if placed in the body of man would make his 
hand the hand of a soldier." 

This valley is the home of Gunpowder. It is also the land 
of the DuPonts, "whose history," exclaims Arthur James, "is 

i6i ] 



not mere powder history, but lives and breathes the very air of 
patriotism, chivalry and achievement. It is more romantic than 
romance itself." 

In the beginning of the Nineteenth Century some French- 
men purchased a barren tract of land near Rockland and began 
blasting. Curiosity was quickly excited among the inhabitants, 
and they asked each other what family it was that had come 
to settle among the woody heights and " snaky rocks " of Bran- 
dywine? Very "snaky," if we accept the statements of Mrs, 
Montgomery, who says, " it was as common for snakes to crawl 
to and drink out of the water bucket as it would be in a back- 
wood's cabin." 

Mrs. Montgomery's book is readable even if it is not always 
accurate, but Carlyle's French Revolution is a more useful 
work for the visitor to this locality. He should saturate his 
mind with the history of the memorable days of '92, particu- 
larly with that terrible 10th of August, when the patriots of 
Paris, armed indifferently with walking sticks and sabres, 
marched to the Tuilleries to visit their king— a painful picture. 
Yes, " few things in the history of carnage are painfuler." Our 
sympathies go out, as did Carlyle's, to that red streak of the 
poor column of Swiss Guards dispersing into blackness and 
death for a king of shreds and patches. 

Many of us who have long since discarded Burke for Paine 
will cheerfully concede it vi^as a chivalrous impulse which im- 
pelled certain gentlemen to flock together for the purpose of 
defending the already defenceless Louis XVI. 

Of those who united in that effort, none was more honora- 
ble, and few were more prominent, than Pierre Samuel du Pont, 
—author, soldier and economist, the associate of Turgot and the 
teacher of Calonne. 

If a face stamped with innate nobility could have furnished 
protection in those tumultuous days, DuPont would have passed 

[ 162 



through the Reign of Terror unscathed, but " the brain of Paris 
had gone mad," had taken fire, and in its dehrium was unable 
to distinguish the true from the false. Lalande was forced to 
hide DuPont in the French observatory, but keen-eyed ven- 
geance soon captured and imprisoned him. Only the fall of 
Robespierre saved him from death. 

While Lalande hid the father, Eleuthere Irene du Pont, his 
son, was hastily conveyed into the country and for some time 
remained in retirement at Essone, where the government pow- 
der works were located. There he became a pupil of Lavoisier, 
and made a thorough study of the processes by which powder 
was produced. 

"It was this odd and fortuitous accident," says Jenkins, 
" that set Eleuthere Irene du Pont to making gunpowder on the 
banks of the Brandywine." 

Small manufactories of Gunpowder, under the compulsion 
of the demand for their product, had sprung up in the United 
States during the Revolution, but they had made little progress. 
The processes were primitive and lacked the precise knowledge 
of scientific method and skillful manipulation which E. I. 
du Font's studies at Essone enabled him to supply. 

He at once resolved to equal in quality the best imported 
powder ; " he double refined his saltpeter and exercised extreme 
care in the selection of his charcoal." Nor were his efforts un- 
appreciated. The uniform excellence of his productions en- 
larged his market, a second mill followed the first, and soon the 
business grew to such proportions that little stone buildings 
sprang up on both sides of the Brandywine. 

The " Upper Works," built in 1802, the " Middle Works " 
in 1812, and the " Lower Works " in 1846, with their labora- 
tories and refineries, stretch along the Brandywine for miles 
and still supply our government with powder. 

Various writers with arithmetical gifts have figured on the 

163 ] 



proportion of credit due the DuPonts for the outcome of Perry's 
Battle on Lake Erie and the victory of the Constitution over 
the Guerriere. In both actions their powders were used. But 
between heroism and powder, who can make a proper division of 
glory ? A punster would have no trouble in deciding it, for with 
an " Infallible " powder there can be no doubtful result. For 
myself I seek refuge in the words of Schley, " there is glory 
enough for all." 

Eleuthere Irene du Pont died in 1832, leaving to his succes- 
sors the most extensive powder works in the country. Dr. 
Thomas Ewell once tried to form a partnership with him, and 
failing in this, and also in his efforts to buy the formulas for 
the DuPont processes, he bought some of his employees instead. 
This was warmly resented, and when later on Ewell was found 
hanging around the works, Eleuthere promptly seized him and 
flung him into the Brandywine. 

In his "Story of the DuPonts," given in a late number 
of " Field and Stream," Arthur James relates an interesting inci- 
dent of one of the members of this family : Early in the Civil 
War, after their mills had been placed at the disposal of the 
Federal Government, and their equipment increased to meet the 
great demands for powder for the Union armies, Mr. Lincoln 
commissioned La Motte du Pont, then twenty-eight years old, 
to go abroad and purchase saltpeter on the briefest notice, with 
a letter of introduction from E. I. du Pont de Nemours & Co. to 
Brown, Shipley & Co., of London. Five hundred thousand dol- 
lars in gold was to follow on the next steamer. Going among 
the saltpeter brokers DuPont bought their entire supply, and in 
a few days the saltpeter was very rapidly delivered and stored 
in a great warehouse in readiness to ship. The purchase was 
to be for cash, but the next steamer failed to bring the gold. 
The brokers, seeing the price of saltpeter rising as the supply 
decreased, besieged him for money. The second vessel arrived 

[ 164 



from the United States without the promised gold. On the third 
steamer it came, however, and just as he saw his mission about 
ended the " London Times " came out opposing the shipment. 
So vigorous was the opposition that La Motte du Pont chartered 
a ship and recruited a crew— many of the men he secured were 
from vessels captured by the Confederate warship, Alabama. 
As the last of the cargo was being taken aboard preparatory to 
leaving at high tide on the following morning, a Customs of- 
ficer reached the wharf with orders to stop the shipment. 
Young DuPont demanded to know his authority, agreeing to ac- 
company him to the Customs House to secure his information. 
Before leaving the ship he stepped into the cabin and whispered 
to the Captain, " Load every pound of saltpeter as quickly as 
possible and be ready to sail at a moment's notice." The Cap- 
tain nodded, and DuPont proceeded with the Customs officer- 
suggested lunch, entertained him with interesting stories, and 
after the consumption of several hours, arrived at the Customs 
House, where he was told that the order to stop the shipment 
came from Lord Palmerston, the British Premier. Despite this, 
the direction to the Captain, who had meanwhile loaded all the 
saltpeter, was, " We will sail at four to-morrow, order or no or- 
der." He arranged with the wharf master to open the locks, and 
retired. Before dawn the next morning the wharf master's men 
manned the capstan and were opening the locks, when a file of 
British soldiers approached. The men were directed to reverse 
their direction, and the partly opened locks were closed. That 
ended all chance of getting the ship out of port and La Motte 
du Pont took the first steamer for New York. Going direct to 
Washington he reported to Secretary Seward, who gave him two 
letters, one to Lord Palmerston, and the other to Minister 
Adams. The first set forth in short sentences that if permission 
to ship the saltpeter were not given immediately, it would be con- 
sidered as a declaration of war. The other directed Minister 
165 ] 



Adams to return to Washington at once if the shipment should 
be prohibited. 

La Motte du Pont reached England by the next steamer, 
and on his arrival in London, conferred with Minister Adams. 
Later he called upon Lord Palmerston for permission to ship the 
saltpeter. " Lord Palmerston is engaged," said the flunkey. 
DuPont called again and received the same reply. On the 
fourth call he inquired if the Premier was in, and receiving an 
affirmative answer, he approached the door of his office, was 
seized by the attendant, but threw him aside and walked quickly 
into Lord Palmerston's presence and laid his card upon the desk. 
His lordship appeared confused, but said hurriedly, " I am 
glad to see you, Mr. DuPont." " I wish permission to ship 
the saltpeter," said the American. "This is an important 
matter," was the reply, " I cannot decide without a conference." 
It was agreed that DuPont should call at 5 o'clock. When he 
called he was told that permission would not be granted. " Lord 
Palmerston," said DuPont, " I am under orders from my govern- 
ment ; Mr. Adams and I leave this evening for Liverpool to 
catch to-morrow's steamer," and abruptly left the room. 

That evening, shortly after 7 o'clock, as La Motte du Pont 
sat at dinner in Morley's Hotel, the landlord bustled in and an- 
nounced excitedly that Lord Palmerston was at the door and 
that he wished to see Mr. DuPont. " Ask Lord Palmerston in," 
was the reply. " I have nearly finished my dinner, and I will be 
with him in a few minutes." 

The landlord returned a moment later, displaying greater 
excitement, and saying that Lord Palmerston would remain in 
his carriage. His dinner finished, DuPont went to the carriage 
and was greeted with the announcement : " Mr. DuPont, we 
have concluded to permit the shipment of the saltpeter." 



[ i66 



MANITOO AND WILD HARRY. 



" It seemed as if all heav'n did shine 
Beneath romantic Brandywine, 
That like a mirror, lit with light 
Reflected all the forms of night." 

The Milford Bard. 

N the south side of the Brandywine, 
in a secret crevice of a large flat rock, 
it is said that the Indian name of 
Manitoo may be found engraven on the 
soHd stone. Certain it is that fifty 
years ago the Milford Bard affirmed 
that the storms of a century and a 
half had not succeeded in obliterating 
"that eternal record of the Indian beauty of the Brandywine 
and Wild Harry of Wilmington, though they have long slum- 
bered in the silent city of the dead." 

Should the curiosity of any of my readers press them to in- 
quire more specifically as to the location of this rock, I answer 
in the exact words of the writer I have quoted, "just opposite 
the upper dam." 

With such explicit directions it is impossible for any one 
to err. Now to the story : 
167 ] 




Manitoo was a Delaware maiden, an adopted daughter of 
the proud chief Undine, whose glance was terrible and whose 
voice " when heard amid the strife, was like that of the Storm 
King when he roars amid the battling billows of the sea." 

Her eyes were dark and dazzling and her form was " straight 
as the mighty bow her father had borne in battle." 

" Seen in the moonlight," says our Bard, " she might have 
been taken for a chef d'ouvre from the chisel of a Praxiteles, a 
Michael Angelo, or a Canova." 

When the full round moon hung high in heaven, Indian 
maidens and warriors sat in groups on the moon-lit rocks of the 
Brandywine, to watch her paddle down the rapid stream in her 
bark canoe, to listen to the song of love that had been taught 
her by the pale-faced Swedes. 

Harry of Wilmington, surnamed the " Wild " on account of 
his roving and romantic spirit, was a descendant of a Swedish 
family, who lived in a Dutch hip-roofed house, on what is now 
King Street. 

How he obtained his livelihood was a mystery even to his 
friends. Some of the settlers of Wilmington regarded him as a 
free-booter, others as a smuggler, but all they knew was that he 
left the shores of the Brandywine in the gloom of night and re- 
turned under the same concealment. 

One night in June, weary from wandering through wood- 
lands and clambering over precipices, he flung himself down 
upon a large flat rock projecting into the stream, and fell asleep. 
Awakened by soft tones of melancholy music, he saw in the 
distance the figure of the fair Manitoo. 

Nearer and nearer came the Indian maiden, till her light 
canoe struck the bank. Leaping to his feet, he seized its prow 
and beckoned her to come. " Stranger," said Manitoo, in a bro- 
ken but bewitching dialect, " let me go to the wigwam of my 
father-." " Nay," returned Harry, " let me gaze upon thee ; let 

[ i68 



me speak with thee but one moment, and thou shalt be gone." 

" Away ! pale face, away ! thou art the enemy of my race," 
she exclaimed, and releasing herself from his grasp, she sud- 
denly pushed from the shore, " singing the famous death song, 
which rung in wild echoes among the rocks and reverberated in 
the gloomy depths of the surrounding forests, until she disap- 
peared from sight." 

The next night Harry repairs to the rock, but Manitoo does 
not appear ; night after night passes, until at last he gives up 
the cherished hope of seeing her again. 

Boarding a brig from Bremen he contracts the plague, and 
forsaken by all except his devoted sister, is removed to an 
old deserted wigwam far up the south bank of the Brandywine. 
Here Manitoo visits him and prepares a decoction that restores 
him to health. 

Hunting by himself in a dense and interminable forest ad- 
joining Wilmington, he suddenly comes across a council fire, 
where he meets Manitoo and a young warrior, Mandika, her once 
successful lover. Upon Manitoo's exhibiting some of the arts of 
the coquette, our Bard expresses the opinion that coquetry when 
judiciously exercised, constitutes woman's most peculiar charm, 
and exclaims with emphasis — 

" Hear it, ye modern beauties of the Brandywine ! aye, and 
of Wilmington, too, if you would bind the heart of a man with 
a chain that shall be stronger than one of adamant, and that 
shall never be broken, ye must not suffer the light of hope to 
burst too brightly on his soul." 

Having regaled himself with savory pieces of bear meat 
and wild cat, and digested some of Undine's philosophy, Harry- 
stretches his tired limbs on a buffalo hide and, overcome with 
liquor, falls asleep. Again Manitoo saves him from death, this 
time at the hands of the jealous Mandika. Pledging his con- 
stancy, Harry returns to his home. His mother and sister 

169] 



protest against his purpose to marry, but all in vain, until they 
call to their assistance an uncle, one Michael Dewaldsen, a Men- 
tor of the family, " whose day-book is his Bible, and whose gold 
is his God." 

Threatened with disinherison, Harry resolves to throw her 
away like a worthless weed, and on the night appointed for their 
meeting at Lover's Rock, when she approaches him wreathed 
in flowers, he tells her that the Great Spirit has willed that they 
must part. 

For some moments she gazes on him in silent sorrow, while 
torrents of tears gush from her eyes ; then, bewildered and grief- 
stricken, she leaps into her canoe, pushes off into the stream, 
waves a last adieu and plunges headlong in the water. In vain 
does he wring his hands in agony, he beholds the poor dis- 
tracted girl no more. 

One evening, strolling about in a musing mood, he finds him- 
self without design wandering in the graveyard of the Old 
Swedes Church. Sitting down on a rude bench thinking of the 
loneliness of the place, of the dead who are slumbering there, 
of the grave so recently made for her who had loved him with 
all the undying devotion of woman, of the wrong he had done 
her, lo ! he sees her form slowly emerging from a recess of 
the church, and with glaring eyes he follows the spectre till it 
disappears. 

Appalled by the apparition, he embarks on a ship for the 
East Indies, becomes morose and taciturn, finding pleasure only 
in the society of an Indian lad named Quashakee. Is Harry 
sick? Quashakee is at his side. Does he watch the stars? 
Quashakee turns his eyes upwai'd, too. So the days pass. At 
length a storm arises, the ship is tossed on an angry sea, a 
reef is struck, the long boat is stove in, the trumpet announces 
that all are lost, and expert swimmer that he is, he is only saved 
by a hand grasping his hair and drawing him to a fragment of 

[ 170 



the wreck. Recovering his scattered senses, he discovers his sa- 
vior to be the Indian lad Quashakee. Together they float on the 
lonely sea until rescued by a brig bound for the West Indies, 
stopping at Havana, from which point they sail for New York in 
company with two Spaniards, Diego and Rosalva. 

Harry passes the nights in relating to Quashakee the story 
of his ill-fated love for Manitoo, his cruelty in forsaking her, 
and his remorse and misery, while the Indian lad in turn, 
touched by the heart-felt sorrow of his friend, leans his head 
upon his bosom and weeps. 

Landing in New York, Diego is murdered at a hotel, and 
near his body a Spanish knife is found with Dewaldsen's name 
engraven on the handle. A little casket of Diego's containing 
jewels, is discovered in Dewaldsen's pocket. He is charged with 
the murder and imprisoned, but Rosalva, stricken with paralysis, 
confesses to the crime, and obtains his release. Quashakee 
throws off his male attire and becomes Manitoo ; Julia De- 
waldsen embraces her in a transport of tenderness ; Undine is 
invited to the nuptials, and the curtain falls. 

" From the union of these two celebrated characters sprang 
a numerous family. Their descendants resided in and about 
Wilmington until the tide of immigration began to set strongly 
to the West. The remains of Wild Harry of Wilmington and 
the Indian Beauty of the Brandywine, now lie mouldering in 
one of the graveyards of that city, after having lived happily 
together." 

But how did Manitoo come to life ? Innocent Questioner, 
nothing could be simpler to one familiar with the subtle quali- 
ties of Indian character. On the night when she threw herself 
into the Brandywine, she took advantage of the moment when 
Harry, horror-stricken, turned from the sight, and secreted her- 
self among the bushes on the margin of the stream. 

This story violates some of Wharton's observations on " Iden- 

171 ] 



tity," but doubtless Wharton was unknown to our Bard, besides, 
the rules on that subject may not have been intended to apply 
to Indian objects. Confessedly our Bard was a man of keen ob- 
servation. Witness his remarks on West Chester : 

" West Chester is the most beautiful inland town I have 
ever seen in any part of the United States that I have ever 
visited. It is surrounded by a glorious country, ample in its re- 
sources, and filled, as far as I could observe, with a liberal, gen- 
erous, whole-souled people, who do not make their day-book their 
Bible, nor gold their God." 

It is pleasing to observe that fifty years ago the passion of 
avarice, so conspicuous in Michael Dewaldsen, could find no home 
in the breasts of my fellow-townsmen. Alas ! What changes 
Kansas mortgages and mining stocks have made. 

If the statements of the Milford Bard can be relied on, it 
is remarkable how many Venuses could formerly be found near 
the mouth of the Brandywine. 

Manitoo is " a Venus just risen from the sea ; " Evalina 
Summerville, the heroine of " The Duel, or the Dream of Love," 
is another. "You may talk of the Peris of Persia, of the 
Sylphs of Circassia, and the dark-eyed, dazzling Georgian girls, 
but never was there a more graceful or beautiful being than 
Evalina. Every eye that beheld was entranced as if some 
Houri of the Turkish harem had come down to earth blessed 
with the grace of a Grecian Venus." No common Venus is this 
Evalina, for "all the gorgeous grace and symmetry of the 
Venus de Medici, are hers ; no Apelles, no Michael Angelo, no 
Raphael, ever imagined, no painter's pencil, no sculptor's chisel, 
ever fashioned or formed, so much of grace and beauty." 

In "A Tale of the Battle of Brandywine," Helen Mac 
Trevor, though her features are masculine and her complexion 
brown, becomes, in the moulding hand of our Bard, as " graceful 
in her symmetry as the Venus de Medici." 

[ 172 



to M 
> 

z td 






02 

O H 



^ aq 




As for Jane Wordley, in " The Boatman's Daughter," who 
lives in a little cottage about equi-distant from the Delaware 
River and the Brandywine, the Grecian Goddess is at a disad- 
vantage ; Jane is " cast in the loveliest mould of nature." 

One Venus— known by the name of Lelia, was carried off 
by an Indian and rechristened by the good Tamenend, Ono-keo-co 
or Flower of the Forest. To celebrate the occasion a great 
feast was ordered by Kanikaw, the chief, and was celebrated " at 
a spot a little below where the Brandywine bridge now stands, 
then covered with whortleberry bushes." 

Many of the pale faces left their settlements on the Christi- 
ana to see the pageant. " Not even Cleopatra came in greater 
pomp down the river Cydnus to meet Mark Antony, than did 
Ono-keo-co in the foremost canoe, attended by Kanikaw and the 
great Tamenend." 

In visiting West Chester, the discerning eye of the Milford 
Bard discovers a Venus in the humble abode of Mary Mande- 
ville. It is true that he is doubtful at first, " a head as lovely 
as Hebe," are his words, but he finally confesses, " Yes, no less 
beautiful than that of Venus." 

The Cynic may sneer, and the Stoic look with cold contempt 
on him who bows down in adoration at the shrine of beauty, but 
our Bard frankly admits his idolatry. 

"As bows the Indian to the setting sun, 
When night approaches and the day is done ; 
Or as the Hindoo to his image kneels, 
And in his soul a deep devotion feels ; 
So have I bowed to woman, without art, 
The angel and the idol of my heart." 

For this deification of woman, was opium or " Tom " Moore 
responsible ? Lofland used the drug and was acquainted with 
the poet— intimately acquainted. Together they rambled along 
the Schuylkill, and admired its scenery. Lofland, however, never 
forgot the Brandywine. Others might praise the Lea, or the 
173 ] 



Ouse, or the Ayr, he maintained the beauty of his native 
stream against them all. When the necessities of his tales re- 
quired it, he was patriotic enough to widen it. Intensely Ameri- 
can, he regretted the disappearance of the Indians and dropped 
an honest tear in contemplating their extinction. 

" And what remains of all that race, 
That once upon these shores we trace? 
Fading away — a mournful doom — 
Soon the last Indian in the tomb 
Will pillow his unhappy head, 
Slumb'ring with all the mighty dead. 
In future times, when long at rest, 
Upon some river of the West, 
An Athens or a Rome shall rise, 
The youth shall ask, with deep surprise, 
What manner of men they were, who trod, 
( Their charter giv'n alone by God, ) 
The mighty masters in command, 
Of this now great and glorious land. 

" Oh ! Brandywine, how changed art thou. 
By Art's proud triumph and the plough!" 



[ 174 



RISING SUN. 



" Flow on, dear river! not alone your flow 
To outward sight, and through your marshes wind ; 
Fed from the mystic springs of long ago, 
Your twin flows silent through my world of mind ; 
Grow dim, dear marshes, in the evening's gray ! 
Before my inner sight ye stretch away. 
And wind forever, though these fleshly eyes grow blind." 

Lowell — A?i Indian Summer Reverie. 



ETRACING my steps, from spots 
associated with memories of 
Manitoo and Wild Harry of Wil- 
mington, I pass by powder mills 
enveloped in trees, stop for a few 
minutes on a rock below Du 
Font's crescent-shaped dam, and 
then press on to the quaint vil- 



lage of Rising Sun. Here, in the presence of a washing which 
an Italian woman has just hung up on the eastern bank of the 
stream, Lofland's poetry leaves me all at once. However, dirty 
clothes, dirty children, dirty huts, belong to but one side ; be- 
yond the space hemmed in by the clothes-line, the scene is 
beautiful. Resolve this beauty into its elements and you will 
discover a tranquil stream, a high bridge, a mass of waving 

175 ] 




green, and a stone water tower. In the early morning, another 
element is furnished by the white mist that floats on the stream 
and hangs round the trees " like the dress of a water spirit." 

Do you love misty outlines and uncertain depths? Visit 
Rising Sun in the morning. Of course you must have the mood 
with you ; and remember that " a mood," as a writer years 
ago observed, " is no bird with powerful wings— only down and 
feathers at the mercy of the winds, falling like snow and van- 
ishing." 

Rising Sun ! I once sought to ascertain how the village ac- 
quired its name. I visited the Historical Society at Wilmington, 
thumbed two or three volumes on biographical history richly il- 
luminated with pictures of Delaware's illustrious dead, inquired 
of certain elderly gentlemen of that city, and temporarily 
rested. 

Having exhausted these sources of information with no 
definite results, I repaired to the village store and asked the 
proprietor, who had the air of a knowing man : " Pray, how 
did this place get its name?" "Which name do you mean, 
sir," he replied, adjusting his glasses to get a full view of his ig- 
norant interrogator, " Henry Clay, Dupont's Banks, Rising Sun, 
or Rokeby?" Overwhelmed with this deluge of names, with 
my ignorance completely exposed, chagrined and disheartened, 
I hastily retreated to the bridge, and have never inquired 
since. 

The view up the stream from this point has a peculiar 
charm, a charm wrought not so much by the foam of the dam 
and the gray of the willows, as by the quaintness of some of the 
buildings at the turn. Looking at their clock-like tops one 
might easily imagine himself in another country, did not the 
cries of the trolley conductors admonish him that he is not far 
from the city of Wilmington. 

The car that stopped here shortly after I came, was crowded 

[ 176 



with passengers, of whom a few got off. Most of them were 
ordinary passengers, in fact, all of them save one, and he 
most extraordinary. A veritable duplication of Du Maupas- 
sant's shopkeeper, " with a burly shop-keeping stomach, in which 
the rest of his body seemed to have got stowed away ; the flabby 
paunch of men who spend their lives sitting, and who have 
neither thighs nor chest nor arms nor neck, the seat of their 
chairs having accumulated all of their substance in one spot." 
Waddling along the road, he sat down on a rock and growing 
tired of the scenery, took the next car back. Two little Italian 
children, pretty enough to serve as models for cherubs, took his 
place. What wonderfully soft eyes they had! and how they 
opened as a boy passed by with half-a-dozen dead sunfish on a 
stick. An hour before, I had seen the boy in an old mud- 
scow flinging his line into the river, and now, he was marching 
homeward with the trophies of his prowess. As I looked at the 
mud-scow half hidden by the bushes, my thoughts went back to 
a summer afternoon, in the borough of West Chester, years ago, 
when Judge Waddell, R. Jones Monaghan, Edward D. Bingham 
and Thomas Lack, in easy chairs under an aged maple which cast 
its shadow over " Rogues' Row," were indulging in recondite dis- 
cussions of law and politics. From politics the converse shifted 
to religion, and finally strayed into the fields of poetry. Lack 
dogmatically insisted there was poetry in everything. Af- 
ter he had dilated upon the poetry of art, of motion, of life, 
even of election returns, a newspaper man, who had joined the 
group, took issue with him. " You are mistaken," he declared, 
"there are some objects that are not susceptible of poetical 
treatment, there is no poetry in a mud-scow," The company 
broke up, leaving Lack alone, who lighted a fresh cigar, pulled 
out his pad and pencil, braced his heels against the tree, and re- 
signed himself to the agonies of composition. That evening he 
handed the journalist the following lines : 
177 ] 



' Where the willows stand in their willowy pride, 

Where the sweet brier blooms by the brown river-side, 
Where the lilies float in the glimmering tide, 

Where the bullfrogs murmur and tadpoles glide,— 
Where mosses and river grass cling to its prow,— 
There bobs and wobbles the old mud-scow. 

From its shadowy nook, 'neath the willow tree 

With an Iron chain for its rosary. 
How oft the echoes of childish glee 

Have filled the zephyrs with melody. 

While, backward and forward, with ceaseless sough,- 
'Twas a wave-rocked cradle— that old mud-scow ! 

How oft from its shadow the minnows fled 

When the school boy came with pin and thread. 
And the trembling catfish shook with dread 

When the gig-lamp'd scow passed overhead, — 
But all these triumphs are ended now— 
Lies loggy and rotting the old mud-scow. 

In the golden time of its pristine pride 

it gayly danced with the groom and bride,— 
The lazy current became its guide. 

The silvery fallfish leaped in the tide,— 

Little they heeded the fishers' wiles now, 
Living halcyon days in the old mud-scow. 

Whilome, from its benches the divers sprang, 

And splashed in cool waters while schoolbells rang,— 
Young roguish truants— a jovial gang — 

Who played and wandered, while the bluebirds sang 
O'er the brown current on the willow bough, 
And romped and paddled in the old mud-scow. 

The cold snows of Winter, the sunshine of Spring, 

The heats of the Summer, the breaths from Fall's wing. 
Like the seasons of mankind of which poets sing. 

Leave their marks on the mud-scow, as well as the king,- 
Man's age is a nonage, a drivelling slough. 
And a moss-covered wreck is the old mud-scow." 



[178 



Seated on the stone coping of this bridge, the bridges over 
the Brandywine between the village of Rising Sun in Dela- 
ware, and the old tavern of Rising Sun in Honeybrook, stretch 
out before me in a long perspective. Most of them are plain, 
so plain, indeed, that one would think a Quaker had designed 
them ; some of them are ugly, so ugly, that the very stream 
itself rises in pride and sweeps them away. 

The " great and sudden risings " of the Brandywine have 
inspired many legal petitions, even some of its branches have ac- 
quired a reputation not merely as dangerous, but as "notor- 
iously dangerous." 

In the early part of the last century it looked as if the 
stream were determined to manifest its power every seven or 
eight years. 

In 1805, Marshall's Bridge was swept away by an " unex- 
ampled flood." 

In 1814, a bridge over " Little Brandywine near Waggon- 
town," was taken off by the rushing tide. 

In 1821, " the bridge commonly called Wistar's Bridge," was 
seized by the angry waters and, despite its historical name, was 
broken into fragments. 

After the first quarter of the century, for some reason, the 
Brandywine became irregular in its operations ; certainly not be- 
cause the bridges were constructed upon more artistic lines than 
formerly, possibly because it despaired of ultimate success in 
freeing itself of these ugly yokes. It is a truth that may be 
accepted as final, that Commissioners did then, do now, and so 
long as they are eligible to second terms, will continue to erect 
the cheapest bridges consistent with safety, that can be designed. 
Why? Because their constituents applaud them for so doing. 
And yet each generation condemns the former for its short- 
sighted policy in failing to construct stone bridges, and then 
follows its example. 

179 ] 



The Persian King, Darius, was willing to listen to advice in 
reference to a bridge of boats over the Danube, and desired that 
Koes, his adviser, would ask him for a suitable reward. But 
who will essay the part of Koes in these degenerate days? 
Eliminate yourself and mention posterity— the result is the 
same : " Posterity ? Why should we consider posterity ? What 
has posterity ever done for us ? " True, very true ! When you 
come to think about it, posterity is impotent, posterity has no 
votes ! 

But enough of Commissioners. I retreated to this bridge 
to rest and reflect ; perchance, to dream. The dreams have 
come and gone, and now the deepening twilight tells me that I 
too must go, and leave this gracious and kindly river behind me. 

0, Brandywine ! a tired wanderer publicly confesses his 
great indebtedness to thee. For him, thou hast transmuted the 
commonplace into the idyllic, and by thy visions of wondrous 
beauty so freely given, hast changed his dull, practical life into 
something akin to poetry. 

So long have I walked by thy side, listening to the song of 
thy waters, that I have come to feel a sense of personal posses- 
sion like that experienced by thy Indian lovers who once lived 
along thy banks. Far olf, in the mountains of Honeybrook, 
I first saw thee, first saw Morning joyously kiss thy pure face, 
and I followed thee through briers and ferns, through waving 
grass and grain, by many a winding course, as far as the 
meadows above "The Ford," where the reddening sun threw 
a sheet of splendor across thy bosom and made thee beautiful as 
the River of God. Even now, as I look down on thy slow- 
moving waters, I see between the straw and the drift-wood, 
shifting pictures of dancing rivulets, rustic bridges, aged but- 
tonwoods, milk-white dogwoods, vine-covered rocks, shaggy hills, 
Indian graveyards, peaceful cattle, happy children, and sleepy 
fishermen. These, thou bearest with thee to the Christiana. 

[ i8o 



And other pictures, not less beautiful and interesting, thou shalt 
bear in years to come. 

This is my Duddon's Bridge. 

" I see what was, and is, and will abide ; 
Still glides the stream and shall forever glide ; 
The form remains, the function never dies ; 
While we, the brave, the mighty and the wise. 
We men who In our morn of youth defied 
The elements, must vanish ; be It so ! 
Enough, if something from our hands have power 
To live, and act, and serve the future hour ; 
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go 
Through love, through hope and faith's transcendent dower. 
We feel that we are greater than we know." 




i8i ] 



WILMINGTON. 



"Adieu! adieu! my native shore 
Fades o'er the waters blue. 
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 

And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
Yon sun that sets upon the sea, 

We follow in his flight. 
Farewell awhile to him and me, 
My native Land— Good Night." 

Byron— Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. 

N her "Reminiscences of Wilmington," 
Elizabeth Montgomery makes mention 
of "a blue rock of Brandywine called 
the Giant's Rock," and high upon it a 
flat space so worn by pebbles as to leave 
the distinct shape of an overgrown foot. 
She also refers to another rock on 
which a student of Dr. Way, when about 
to leave this locality, cut the words, " William H. Kenney de- 
parted — ." A few days afterwards he died of a violent fever, 
and a friend added, " this life in October, 1794." 

I have looked for both rocks, and have located the former, 
but have failed to find the latter. Disappointed lovers of " an- 
tiques " who feel inclined to continue the search for it around 
the mills of the Brandywine, ought to know in advance that 
cameras and panama hats offer irresistible targets for mill-girls 

[ 182 







on second and third floors, and that pulp invariably goes straight 
to the mark with many of the effects of an explosive bullet. 

"The Brandywine," says this same writer, "is an ex- 
tremely crooked creek, flowing over and through rocks, in fanci- 
ful curves, varying in depths. Within a few miles of town you 
can cross over five bridges, four covered and one wire foot-way." 

"A whimsical stream," she calls it, "for at one time the 
dams are a dry path, and the whole looks like a rocky ridge in a 
thirsty land. At another time, the roar of the water-falls is 
deafening. Again, on your next visit, it may be a gentle, limpid 
stream, so inviting that a seat on a rock is involuntarily taken 
in the view of reflected mills, vessels, trees and people." 

The only words to which I take exception are "crooked 
creek." It seems to me the Brandywine might, without a large 
draft on poetical emotion, be called " meandering river." Even 
Benjamin Ferris, who can hardly be charged with a bent toward 
poetry, in describing the early settlements along the Delaware, 
makes the stream meander through the meadow lands beyond 
the old church. However, I shall not quarrel with my guide 
book, nor shall I undertake to repeat the 
story of this peaceful valley, but shall 'Vi^-; ;,|:x j. 

look at its various dams, explore its kills, "~ .^"^ ,-></^ 

particularly Rattlesnake-kill, Black Kats- ^"^ -p;^ 

kill and Kilpot, examine the sites of the \ - V" -- 

Old Barley Mill and Hamilton Rowan's ^^ ' '_ 

house, and having seen them all, and V," ■ 's= 

rested for a moment on "Old Saddle 
Tree," shall end my day with a stroll in , _, ^ 

the Park and a view of the Christiana. 

Six dams are to be found between the end of DuPont's 
grounds and the mouth of the Brandywine. 

Rockford Dam, which supplies Bancroft's Upper Mill, being 
partially hidden by the thick foliage of its banks, is not always 
183 ] 



seen or appreciated by strangers, but the sunshiny pool imme- 
diately below the breast is both visible and tempting, in fact, 
so tempting that boys invariably disregard all notices, and plunge 
into its depths. 

Kentmere Dam, which furnishes the power for Bancroft's 
Lower Mill, is less attractive than Rockford. Between Rock- 
ford and Kentmere Mills, on the right bank. Giant's Rock once 
lifted its head on high, now it is shattered and scattered by 
blasts. On the left bank, a short distance below the breast of 
Kentmere Dam, Devil's Rock has also disappeared— covered by 
the railroad embankment. 

At Jessup and Moore's Dam, further down, the banks of 
the river are girt about with stone. From the railroad track 
hanging vines and ivy give a part of this land the appearance 
of an Italian Garden. 

Forty or fifty rods below the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad 
Bridge, which soars high in the air. Rattlesnake Run wrig- 
gles down through the 
rocks and when in sight 
of the river, twists 
itself into a sewer. 
Such significance does 
this name possess, that 
heard for the first 
time, some timid per- 
sons involuntarily look 
about them, half ex- 
pecting to hear the rat- 
tling warning of the 
deadly snake. 

Not far from what was once the mouth of Rattlesnake Run, 
a slender willow bends gracefully toward the water. Four years 
ago one of the park guards, upon hearing an elderly gentleman 

[ iS4 







Public Road Oveaiooking Ra 




direct a colored laborer to dig a hole near the river's brink, ap- 
proached and inquired his purpose. The gentleman exhibited 
a willow slip and said, "I propose to plant this willow here, un- 
less you object, and you will hardly object when 
you know where it came from." 

" Where did it come from ? " inquired the 
guard. 

" From the grave of Napoleon at St. Hel- 
ena." 

A foot-bridge and a walk of four or five 
hundred yards, brings one to the Supply Dam, 
where the race starts, which, winding gracefully through Bran- 
dywine Park, furnishes water to the people of Wilmington. 

For me, Brandywine Park is beautiful, intensely beautiful ; 
art has contributed to it, but its largest factor is the Brandy- 
wine, whose course from Rising Sun to Market Street bridge, 
is one of infinite charm, where you "may wander to and fro 
with slow and dreamy step, invoking here a shade and there 
a memory." Who finds no gratification in these rocks and woods 
and water-falls, is aesthetically vacuous. 

At the Supply Dam a lot of children have halted for a mo- 
ment, enjoying the scene, rejoicing in what Sandeau would call, 
" irridescent dust." 

On a bench between the race and the Brandywine, deep in 
thought, sits an old man who neither moves nor looks up as I ap- 
proach him ; his eyes are fixed with set gaze, on the river, pos- 
sibly calculating how long it will take the water that just broke 
in foam to reach the Christiana ; in some measure identifying 
his own life with it, feeling that he, too, is rapidly approaching 
his end. Perhaps the spray reminds him of shattered fortunes 
in times long since gone by. " Well, God deal tenderly with thee, 
whoever thou mayest be." With Longfellow, I venerate old age, 
" I love not the man who can look without emotion upon the sun- 
185 ] 



set of life, " when the dusk of evening begins to gather over 
the watery eye, and the shadows of twiHght grow broader and 
deeper upon the understanding." 

I leave him to himself, and continuing my course along the 
race, pass a group of men, no ! I do not pass them, I abruptly 
halt, for the conversation is animated and loud, the topic being, 
whether a colored defendant may ever be called " Mister " with 
impunity, in court. The argument is a noisy one and threatens 
to become noisier. It smacks of the "Sessions," and I came 
hither to forget them ; so turning my back upon the disputants, 
I look for more interesting objects and find them, too, in the 
persons of four boys, who show their dexterity in crossing a log 

bridge over the 
race. " I can cross 
it backwards," 
cries one of them, 
and manifests his 
superiority by do- 
ing it. Had he 

dropped in, it 

-3^ -_^ ^3_-^^ -- - — - would have made 

VanBuren Street Bridge. but little differ- 

ence, for he had just come from a bath in the river. In 1800, 
the French residents built bath-houses over this stream and 
placed benches in the race, on which the servant women stood 
to wash clothes. Now, the purity of the race is scrupulously 
preserved. 

Five hundred yards or so away VanBuren Street Bridge 
stretches itself across the river. One crosses this bridge to 
visit the Zoological Gardens, which have suffered not a lit- 
tle from neglect, and chiefly exhibit raccoons and bears. Re- 
turning to the right side, it is but a short walk of forty or fifty 
rods down the river to the site of the Old Barley Mill. In early 

[ i86 





times John Fleming used the place for cleaning barley. Years 
afterwards the mill was enlarged and fitted with spinning jen- 
nies. After this was done, it was called Rockburn, but the 
former name continues to ad- 
here to it, and to-day, every 
person who examines the mill- 
stone unearthed some years 
ago, or looks at the water- 
soaked logs that still mai"k the 
breast of the dam, forgets Rock- 
burn, and exclaims, " Here was 
the Old Barley Mill." 

Near this spot in 1797, as has been pointed out by Mrs. 
Montgomery, stood the cottage of Archibald Hamilton Rowan, 
Esq., whose arrest in his own country, imprisonment, wonderful 
escape, landing on the coast of France, embarkation to America, 
arrival at Wilmington and return to Ireland, are facts with 
which every reader of Irish History is, or ought to be, fa- 
miliar. If Barrington can be relied on, Rowan might have 
served as a model for a Hercules, " his gigantic limbs conveyed 
the idea of almost supernatural strength ; his shoulders, arms 
and broad chest, were the very emblems of muscular energy ; 
and his flat, rough countenance, overshadowed by enormous 
dark eyebrows and deeply furrowed by strong lines of vigor and 
fortitude," completed a most formidable figure. Tradition is 
silent as to his shaggy, Newfoundland dog, with hair a foot 
long, " a dog, who, if voraciously inclined, seemed well able to 
devour a barrister or two without overcharging his stomach." 

Fancy such a man wheeling spruce beer in a barrel through 
the streets of Wilmington. 

Walking around this spot to-day my mind turns, not so 
much to the stirring incidents in Rowan's career, or the pecu- 
liarities of the man with his sword and compass and dogs and 
187 ] 



pedometer, as to Curran's magnificent speech in his defense, the 
peroration of which I committed to memory in boyhood : 

" I will not relinquish the confidence that this day will be 
the period of his sufi'erings ; and, however mercilessly he has 
been hitherto pursued, that your verdict will send him home to 
the arms of his family and the wishes of his country. But if, 
which heaven forbid, it hath still been unfortunately determined, 
that because he has not been power and authority, because he 
would not bow down before the golden calf and worship it, he is 
to be bound and cast into the furnace ; I do trust in God, that 
there is a redeeming spirit in the Constitution, which will be 
seen to walk with the sufferer through the flame and preserve 
him unhurt by the conflagration." 

Below the Barley Mill Dam is Washington Street Bridge, 
then comes the First Dam, and after a quarter of a mile of 
rocks, the bridge at Market Street. The Black Kats-kill that 
came into the Brandywine further down is now filled up, nor can 
it be traced, as it could in the time of Benjamin Ferris, by " its 
reeds and rushes through all its sinuous course to its former 
mouth to a small cove on the south side." It took its name from 
a transport ship, " The Black Cat," and was one of the outlets 
for the great body of water which, on the recession of the 
tides, was discharged below the old church. 

Below Market Street the river is navigable, and I take to the 
water. At Kirkwood Park a young oarsman offers his services, 
and immediately upon my acceptance, doffs his coat, rolls up his 
shirt sleeves, dips his oars, gives a vigorous pull at the very 
start, for it is high tide and the rowing is hard. Scarcely 
have we reached Eleventh Street bridge till the wind rises, ruf- 
fling the surface of the river and making the rowing still 
harder. But the strong arms pull even more energetically, and 
a few minutes later the railroad bridge is behind us. On the left 
the winding Shellpot leaves its splatter-docks for the river. We 

[ iS8 



are getting away from the mills and factories, away from the 
everlasting grinding of machinery, away from the hustling, 
sweating, laboring, crowd ; already the scenery is changing, the 
banks of the river are becoming flat, and its muddy margins are 
marked with reeds and cat-tails. Here and there clusters of 
sumach that almost reach the height of trees, look over masses 
of elderberry bushes in front of them, and at odd intervals rude 
boat-houses are seen half hid by the branches of weeping wil- 
lows. 

One who has drunk at the bubbling fountain-head of this 
Brandywine, or has seen its silver-clear stream flowing through 
meadows rich with clover and fragrant with mint, is tempted to 
muse a little, but a tug-boat plowing its way up the river puts 
an end to all reflections ; it beats the water and throws up waves 
which glide off along its hull until they reach the splatter-docks 
that spread their green leaves far out upon the turbid water, as 
if they fain would hide as much of it as possible. We turn our 
boat quickly and tumble over the rollers, then we head her down 
the stream again, meeting launches and passing barges, until 
rounding the last bend I see the drawbridge ahead of us and the 
traditional spot where the vessel laden with brandy and wine 
went down. I watch the oarsman aim for the middle arch ; he 
passes through it and brings me out near the jetty where an old 
woman is keeping a vigilant eye upon a brood of children who 
are diving into the river. One boy gives us an "hurrah" and 
emphasizes it by kicking his feet together as he disappears be- 
neath the water. 

" We are in the Christiana," says my oarsman. " In the 
Christiana," whistles a tug boat, and my journey is at an end. I 
have reached the land which Elizabeth Shipley saw in her dream. 
Traveling on horseback along a high road, she came to a wild 
and turbulent stream, which she forded with difficulty, and 
mounted a long and steep hillside. At its summit a great view 
189] 



of surpassing beauty spread out before her. The hill whereon 
she stood melted away in the distance into a broad savannah, 
covered with luxuriant grass. On either side of the hill ran a 
stream, one of them, the wild water-course which she had just 
crossed ; the other, a snake-like river that wound sluggishly 
along in the sunlight. 

Behind me are the heights of Wilmington, in front of me— 
half a mile across the flats— rises the lighthouse which marks 
the point where the snake-like Christiana discharges itself into 
the Delaware. 




[ 190 



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